


That Would Be Enough

by theangryuniverse



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Nomads, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Inspired by the nomad people of Mongolia, M/M, Miscommunication, No historical accuracy, Nomad Setting, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Romance, Smut, The A/B/O is not explicitly addressed, Victor loves Yuuri more than his life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29808543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangryuniverse/pseuds/theangryuniverse
Summary: The day the nomads arrive, Yuuri's life takes an unexpected turn.For he has known Victor, or rather, of Victor, long before he had even first laid his eyes on him. He has known of his reputation, of his name, of his title, of his influence and power, just like everyone else. His knowledge had not made him any special, and it certainly has not prepared him for anything he faces now.For what, truly, could it possibly be that the man that everyone calls thehokinsees in him?
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 64
Kudos: 288





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lorelai_walker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorelai_walker/gifts).



> Something very new, something (not so) small.  
> I had this idea a while ago and it was nice to write it all down and explore this dynamic. 
> 
> General info:  
> There is no traditional a/b/o in this fic.  
> The word "hokin" is one that I have entirely made up. 
> 
> Trigger warnings: depiction and brief discussion of the consequences of a miscarriage (not concerning the main characters).
> 
> That is all you need to know.
> 
> If there are ANY weird typos in this fic it's because Ao3 is behaving strangely and adding strange words. Maybe it's cursed.

You see, it is not that Yuuri does not like his husband.

In fact, he actually likes him very much – so much more than he has at first thought he would. And really, no one would have blamed him for being cautious, for being hesitant, for being wary of him. Most that find themselves in a similar situation as his are, especially during the first few days and weeks of their new life that is marriage. After all, it is quite common to know little or absolutely nothing about the person one is to marry, unless both have grown up in the same clan, but then, a marriage is to be avoided. Sometimes, they will grow up in close proximity to each other, in neighbouring settlements, in clans that look favourably upon another, and will have caught a glimpse or two of the other at the market, at festivals, or at any other event. But for most, the name and face of the one they will marry one day remains a mystery until things are decided for them by their families, and that was that.

It is only natural, really, to be shy and hesitant when you do not know the other at all.

Yuuri, on the other hand, has known Victor, or rather, _of Victor_ , long before he had even first laid his eyes on him. Yes, even before he had become his mate. He has known of his reputation, of his name, of his title, of his influence and power, just like everyone else. His knowledge had not made him any special, and it certainly has not prepared him for anything he faces now. Victor is just like he has thought he would be, and also very different. He is proud indeed, but with no trace of arrogance in it. He is stubborn, but does not use it for meaningless arguments. He carries his title, the one of _hokin_ , with pride, but does not treat Yuuri, let alone anyone else, as inferior to himself. He does not owe anyone explanations, knows that his tribe, his people, will listen to him, but does not abuse his power. He does not have to smile at anyone, especially not when things are not going well, but he still does. And one of those smiles is always reserved for Yuuri.

Yuuri likes his husband very much.

But he cannot deny that Victor is… utterly confusing.

There are moments in which Yuuri cannot help but wonder why Victor chose to marry him, of all people. And it is true – Victor, the _hokin_ , could have had anyone as his mate, and he has surely had many offers. Yes, Victor has given him an explanation once, and that explanation has touched Yuuri deeply, but he still fails to quite believe it. It is too good to be true that someone like Victor could possibly choose him for no other reasons than that their spirits and nature seem to naturally align. But he chose him, chose him freely, and nothing confuses Yuuri more.

That, and the fact that since their wedding night, Victor has not touched him again.

He does not know why, and it confuses them, for their marriage has begun in a rather promising, but also rather peculiar way.

*-*-*-*-*-*

The day Yuuri sees the _hokin_ for the first time, he is helping his father.

A surprising hail storm has damaged the outer wall of several tents in their small settlement, as well as some of the sturdier they have recently erected together with the latest newcomers. Over the years, their settlement has grown more and more – a development that not everyone had looked upon favourably. Newcomers meant intruders, a readjustment of things. But his father and his mother had never really cared. Instead, they have raised him and his older sister Mari to respect everybody, regardless of where they are coming from. It does help, of course, that those who join their settlement (and eventually, their clan) come because they seek peace, mainly because they are old, or because there are children on the way.

The lifestyle of a nomad is harsh and unforgiving, and more and more people are abandoning it in favour for a firm settlement in lands like these, where rich crops grow and the rivers do not freeze in winter. But the nomads still exist, and they are both feared and respected. Yuuri has had his fair share of them, has met them at markets, has marvelled at the things they sell, brought from faraway lands. But one is never quite prepared for another encounter with them.

Let alone someone as young as him.

His father stands on a ladder that has seen much better days already, and it has been mended and fixed so many times that it is a miracle it is not falling apart yet. Yuuri holds it firmly as his father works, repairing the small holes in the fabric while the old man and his wife that live in this tent watch from below. They are too weak and too fragile to do it themselves, but Yuuri and his family never shy away from helping out. It is their way of life, and it is his father’s responsibility as the head of their settlement.

They call it Hasetsu, after the river.

Suddenly, his father pauses, and he stares at something in the distance. His eyes narrow, and he raises his hand to shield them from the bright sunlight.

“Nomads.”

Immediately, Yuuri turns his head and tries to catch a glimpse of them from where he stands, but of course, the other tents are blocking his view.

His father climbs down the ladder and pats his back. “They are heading our way. Could you finish this for me?”

“Of course, father,” Yuuri says and asks the old man to hold the ladder instead as his father walks away in order to prepare for the nomad’s arrival. They are by no means dangerous, but often rather peculiar, and one never knows who it is that is coming. Yuuri climbs up the ladder and is promptly blinded by the sunlight, and just like his father, he has to raise his hand to protect his eyes. He blinks a few times, lets his eyes adjust, and searches for the nomads in the distance.

It is a rather large group that he spots on the hill on the other side of the river, with at least two dozen horses of rich, dark colours as they are typical for colder climates. How many people there are, Yuuri cannot tell, but even if there is only one person per horse, it already makes the tribe a rather large one. Perhaps one of the largest they have ever seen.

He quickly fixes the tent of the old couple, then climbs down the ladder again and carries it back to the tent of his family where Mari sits under the awning and sharpens the arrows of her bow.

“There are nomads,” she says as Yuuri joins her. “Do we know them?”

Yuuri shrugs. “I don’t know. It is a rather large group.”

Mari sets the arrows aside and stands. “Come, we’ll have a look at them.”

Yuuri follows her to the outskirts of their settlement, where other people have already gathered – first and foremost, the children, of course, for whom the arrival of strangers is the most exciting thing to happen since the unexpected snow in the fourth month of last year. But there are also the adults, among them their father and mother, debating quietly with the others.

“Look!” A little girl shouts, and the adults turn their heads.

Two riders have separated from the nomads and are riding their way, with certain determination and speed, but not fast enough to appear aggressive.

“What do you think they want?” Mari asks.

“I don’t know,” Yuuri says, never taking his eyes off them. “Maybe they are strangers and want to introduce themselves.”

They are obviously not the only ones asking themselves that question, for their father exchanges a few words with one of the other elders and then goes to fetch their own horses to meet the nomads on the other side of the river. Not a single bridge connects them with the other side, but their horses are trained to walk through the water, fearing neither the cold nor the stream. It is both a blessing and a curse, for it keeps intruders with less trained horses away, but also separates their settlement from the rich greens of the other side.

Their mother comes to stand beside them, one hand on the back of each child as they watch their father and the other man make their way across the river, the two nomads coming closer and closer.

“This is most unusual,” their mother says, “for the _hokin_ to come all this way to the south with his people.”

“The _hokin_?” Yuuri and Mari say simultaneously and stare at their mother.

Hiroko smiles and hums in confirmation. “Once you know their horses, you recognise them anywhere. Especially _him_.”

Yuuri turns his head, and sees him.

His hair shines in the light of the sun that is so unusually bright today, as if it had come out just for this occasion. He sits tall on his horse, on a large, black stallion that easily puts the horses of Yuuri’s own people to shame, and holds his head high as he and his companion slow down. He raises his hand in both defence and greeting as Toshiya and the other elder approach them until they are just a few metres apart. And then, silence falls over the village, and the wind rustles in the crowns of the trees.

Yuuri knows who he is.

Just like everyone else his age, he has heard the stories of the _hokin_ , of the man that leads the greatest and oldest tribe of nomads known in their lands. The word _hokin_ is a title, he has been told, a title for the leader but also a word in the language of these people. What it means, though, neither his mother nor his father have ever been able to tell him, for the nomads keep many things a secret.

He is not the first to carry this title, has inherited it from his father, but he is the most famous.

Without him, there would have been war.

Without him, there would still be war now.

But the days of battles lie in the past thanks to him, and Yuuri is too young to remember them. All he knows of them are the stories, and the _hokin_ has been present in them ever since. But to actually see the man in person is something entirely different. There is an aura of authority that surrounds him, an aura that Yuuri feels even from afar, but it does not feel threatening.

Mari nudges him with her elbow. “What do you think they are talking about?”

“They surely do not come without a good reason,” Hiroko says, watching the back of her husband attentively. “Something must have happened.”

“You mean a battle?” Mari asks.

“I don’t think so,” Hiroko says and shakes her head. “News of a battle would have reached us already.”

The wind is merciful with the nomads today, for it does not carry any bits of the conversation across the river, and all they can do is to wait. Yuuri watches as his father exchanges quick words with the other man, watches as the _hokin’_ s companion moves a little further towards them and leans forward, as if pleading for them to do something. A few moments pass, and then, Toshiya gives a nod, and begins to lead the _hokin_ and his companion towards the river with unusual speed. 

In an instant, the people move aside, mothers grabbing their children and pulling them out of the way as their clan leader returns with the strangers and rides right into their midst. Only then Yuuri spots the motionless figure that is tied to the _hokin’s_ companion with a thin rope to keep her from falling off the horse. It is a woman, her hair of a bright, golden colour, but her skin is pale, and almost the colour of snow. Never a good sign.

“Hiroko,” Toshiya calls and slides from his horse. But before he can say anything else, the _hokin_ himself has dismounted his horse as well and approaches her with quick steps, coming to stand right in front of Yuuri’s mother. He is taller than her, by a lot, but he does not use his height to tower over her like many others would in an attempt of intimidation.

“You are the most renowned healer in our lands,” he says and bows his head in respect. “From the bottom of my heart, I ask you to help her.”

Yuuri cannot help but stare at the man who approaches his mother with such deference as if she were his own, who even bows to her as if he were her vassal or even servant. But his mother does not even blink once, does not hesitate for a second, and she nods. “Bring her to my tent.”

“I thank you,” the _hokin_ says and exchanges a few words with his companion before he loosens the rope that ties the woman to the other man and pulls her into his arms almost tenderly, as if she were his wife.

Perhaps she is.

“Yuuri, quick,” Hiroko says and pulls Yuuri out his thoughts, and he stumbles after her to his mother’s tent. It is where she takes care of the sick and wounded, and where Yuuri also spends most of his time as his mother’s assistant. Taking care of those who need the help of a healer has always been his mother’s greatest passion and Yuuri has been helping her ever since he was old enough. First, he had been only allowed to bring their patients to eat and to drink, then to change bandages. And then, his mother had begun to teach him about herbs, and how to make medicine. It is a skill that she has taught Mari as well, but Mari has always been more interested in other things. No one blames her, for she is the one who will be the clan leader one day, the one who will guide the people of their small settlement.

The _hokin_ carries the woman to the tent, putting her down where Hiroko tells him to, doing so with greatest tenderness and care. She stirs, barely so, and Yuuri can tell that she is barely conscious at this point. His mother briefly checks her pulse and parts the woman’s lips with her fingers to take a look at her tongue. “Yuuri, please bring me my bag, the small one,” she says and looks up, directly at the _hokin_. “Please wait outside. We will take care of her.”

Yuuri is expecting the man to protest, as he is sure that the _hokin_ is not a man that likes to be ordered around, especially not by a woman. But the man nods immediately. “Thank you.”

“Yuuri, the bag,” Hiroko says and Yuuri rushes to do as he is told. When he turns around again, they are alone with the woman, the flap of the tent having fallen shut again.

“Do you know what’s wrong with her?” Yuuri asks and opens the bag for his mother, in which she keeps small instruments and other things. “She looks like she has a fever.”

“She has a fever,” Hiroko murmurs and Yuuri reaches out to touch the woman’s face. And indeed, she is burning up. “And her stomach feels hard.” Hiroko pulls up the woman’s skirts without hesitation and reaches down, and Yuuri holds his breath, out of anxiety about what she will most likely find.

His mother’s face is calm and focused, even as she looks at him and confirms his suspicions. “It is dead.”

Yuuri swallows thickly and looks at the woman’s pale face, reaches for her hand and takes her pulse, feeling it as barely there. Her breath is shallow, her body weak from fighting against the poison coming from the inside. It does not take a skilled healer with years of experience like his mother to see that her body has been fighting for a very long time now.

Perhaps for too long.

“Bring me the sage and yarrow,” Hiroko says and grabs the bowls she uses for mixing herbs. “And thyme. We need to bring her fever down and the poison out.”

Yuuri gets to his feet and rushes to the other side of the tent where his mother keeps all sorts of herbs in small pots and bottles. Thyme will bring the fever down, he recalls in his mind, and sage and yarrow will cause contractions. In cases like this, such treatments are the first step, and usually, the most lifesaving ones. With the herbs in hand he returns to his mother’s side, grabs one of the bowls and begins to prepare the thyme for the brew whilst his mother measures the sage and yarrow carefully. She does not have to use these often, which means that she has to be even more careful to not overdose them. With thyme, it is less complicated, but Yuuri works quickly, grinding the herbs and pouring the hot water over them that always waits in the pot over the small fire.

“Give it to her,” Hiroko says, still working on the yarrow, not looking up.

Yuuri moves to the woman’s side and lifts her head into his lap, pulls her jaw apart and carefully pours the brew into her mouth, making sure not to spill a single drop. But the woman does not react, does not even swallow, and Yuuri cannot help but brush his fingers across her motionless carotid, searching for the slightest hint of the spirits of life that possess every man, every woman, every child, every living creature.

He finds none.

“She’s gone.”

The sound of the pestle in the mortar stops.

His mother is at his side a moment later, taking the woman’s head into her hands, feeling her pulse, listening to any potential sounds of a heartbeat.

But just like Yuuri, she finds nothing.

It is a fate that does not come often to those that have been blessed with the gift of bringing forth new life, but it is part of their reality. Losing a child usually does not go unnoticed. But for some reason, this woman has not noticed, her body has not tried to get rid of it, and has thus been poisoned from the inside out. It happens, Yuuri knows that, but so very rarely that even his mother does not know what to say for a very long moment.

“Poor girl,” she whispers then and carefully lowers the woman’s head to the ground.

It is not the first time that one of their patients has died, but instances like this never fail to remind Yuuri that he could be easily one of them. Just like all the others that have been blessed with the gift of bringing forth new life. Like his mother. Like his sister. Like his childhood best friend, who has already gotten married and is now the mother of three little girls. Like the son of his great uncle.

It reminds him of the fact that this gift comes with a most gruesome price.

“Come, Yuuri,” his mother says and rises. “We must tell them.”

Yuuri can think of at least a thousand things he’d rather do than to tell the _hokin_ that the woman he has brought to them is dead. A woman that is perhaps his wife. Yuuri has seen what grief can do to people, how men scream and shout when their wives die unexpectedly, knows how violent they can become.

He follows his mother out of the tent and keeps his gaze lowered, looking anywhere but at the _hokin_ and his companion who have turned around.

“She had a miscarriage that her body failed to remove, and has been poisoned from the inside,” Yuuri hears his mother say, her voice calm and soothing, and full of sympathy. “Her spirit has left her body. There was nothing we could do. I’m sorry.”

The fit of rage that comes from outmost despair and which Yuuri has anticipated does not come.

He looks up, finding the _hokin_ looking not at his mother but at the ground. His hand rests on the hilt of the sword that he carries attacked to his leather belt, the knuckles turning white as he grips it firmly. But he does not scream, does not shout, not even as he finally lifts his gaze and looks Yuuri’s mother in the eye.

“She was pregnant?” He asks, far too calmly for a man whose wife has just died, Yuuri thinks.

Hiroko nods. “Perhaps seven or eight weeks before the child died. It is not uncommon for a miscarriage to happen during that time. But in rare cases, the body fails to remove it.” She speaks as soberly as only a healer can, but also with all the sympathy she has. “I’m very sorry.”

The _hokin_ takes a deep breath, and Yuuri is sure that he will now begin to yell. But instead, he turns around to his companion and speaks to him in the strange, rough language that is common in the far north. For a moment, the man’s face is expressionless before his eyes widen and he looks at Hiroko and Yuuri, his eyes filling with tears that no man in the south would ever dare to show in public, and he storms past them into the tent. For a moment, it is eerily quiet before a terrifying, bloodcurdling cry of agony and despair shakes them all to the bone.

The _hokin_ bows his head.

“I thank you for everything you have done,” he says with unexpected softness. When he speaks like this, Yuuri realises, his accent is much more noticeable, much thicker as before. “Not everything lies in our hands.”

Hiroko nods, as if there were not cries and sobs of the deepest pain known to humankind coming from the tent behind them.

“We may prepare the body if you wish,” she says, “according to the customs of your people. Mother and child may find peace separately if need be.”

But the _hokin_ shakes his head. “It is where it is intended to be,” he says, “safe with her.” He glances at the tent. “I know that I do not have the right to ask this of you…”

Hiroko smiles softly. “He may mourn for as long as he needs.”

Yuuri is sure she is only saying it because there are no ill people at their settlement right now, for otherwise, the tent would be needed. But he can understand the need for the _hokin_ ’s companion to be close to his wife, even if she is gone.

He has felt the same a long time ago.

Again, the _hokin_ bows his head in deference to Hiroko, even lower than before, and an unmissable sign of his respect. And then, he bows to Yuuri as well, who is too shocked by the gesture to do anything but stare at the man.

“Your kindness will never be forgotten amongst our people,” the _hokin_ says, his eyes on Yuuri for just a second too long for his gaze to be merely in passing. But no one seems to notice, and before Yuuri can possibly begin to feel uncomfortable, the other man turns around and walks away.

As he rides back to his people, the sun kisses his back, and his hair shines bright in the evening light.

Almost like a falling star.

*-*-*-*-*-*

A funeral pyre is built on the other side of the river.

It is a tradition amongst the nomads, Yuuri learns, to rest for fifteen days when one of their own dies. And so, the nomads have erected their tents at the bottom of the hill, far away enough to not be a bother to their settlement, but close enough to allow a glimpse into a clan so very different from their own. It is a rather moving gesture of the nomads, Yuuri thinks, to interrupt their travels in order to mourn. Every nomad has helped to collect the wood for the pyre, and as it is set aflame, they all stand around it in a circle, humming a melody so very foreign to Yuuri’s ears, but hauntingly beautiful as he watches from the other side of the river. After the ceremony, he notices a single nomad riding away, disappearing on the horizon. When he asks his father, he learns that it is the widower of the woman, now going into seclusion to mourn her in the fashion of his people. Within their own clan, such an act would be unthinkable – every hand is needed, every man and every woman is necessary in order to guarantee the survival of the settlement.

But Yuuri has been taught to respect the ways of others, and so, he does not question it.

When living in such close proximity to another tribe, it is only natural for especially the children to be curious. It takes hardly a day for the children of Hasetsu to move closer and closer to the river to watch the newcomers as they set up tents, create fireplaces, take care of the horses, and go about their day. They do not own cattle but are merchants, trading valuable goods from the places they visit. That way, they have become rather wealthy, which shows in the materials they use for their tents. They are surprisingly sturdy despite being made for being packed up and transported on the backs of horses. The clothes of the nomads are also quite unusual, of rich, deep colours and ornamented with beautiful embroidery – for both men and women. Even the children – and there is quite a handful of them – are dressed in a colourful way, their hair braided and ornamented with ribbons. Yes, it is indeed fascinating to watch the nomads, and it is only natural to be hesitant when one does not know another tribe that well.

In the end, it is once again the children that break the ice for good, as a particularly hot day brings them both to the shores of the river, where the water is low and perfect for the boys and girls to play in. That, of course, attracts the adults, too, and soon enough, mothers and fathers of both sides come together in friendly, open conversation.

And soon enough, the _hokin_ himself comes to the other side of the river.

Most of the time, he speaks to Yuuri’s father. About what, Yuuri cannot tell, but it is most likely sharing information about people they both know, about shared struggles as clan leaders, and other things like that. The _hokin_ also has a name, he learns. Victor. It is what his people call him. They are not addressing him with his title but with his birth name instead, which is odd enough for the people of Hasetsu, who have gotten used to the title _hokin_. But the longer one hears his name, the more fitting it seems to be.

Victor.

Yuuri tries the name a few times on his tongue until it comes easily over his lips, and he wonders if the name has a meaning. It is a beautiful name, though, a name with aura, a name that speaks of strength, of pride, of authority.

Victor.

Of the man himself, however, he sees little in the beginning. On the one hand, his father is to blame for that, who takes Victor with him to the nearby markets and to meet other important men and women of the area. On the other hand, there are always people to look after, always open knees of children to clean, and medicine to prepare. His mother’s reputation has not suffered from the death of the nomad woman, and even the nomads begin to approach her, asking her about this and that. They have just the same ailments as everyone else, and there are healers among them, but just like any other healers, they are eager to exchange knowledge, advice, and recipes. And so, Yuuri stays with his mother most of the time and fulfils his daily duties.

One night, however, Yuuri returns to his family’s tent, carrying a bucket of water, only to find the _hokin_ sitting under their awning, laughing about something Yuuri’s father has told him with a cup of their home-made wine in his hand that his father only ever serves to the highest guests. Yuuri freezes in his tracks, not sure if he is allowed to interrupt, but his father has already seen him. “Ah! There he is,” he says and clasps his hands, beckoning him to come closer. “Yuuri, is your mother still occupied?”

Yuuri clears his throat and steps forward, coming to stand right at the edge of the mat the men are sitting on. “She is fixing an ankle just now,” he says, trying to ignore the fact that Victor is looking at him quite attentively. “Over at Miku’s.”

“Then she’ll be with us soon,” Toshiya says with a nod. “Victor will eat with us tonight. I know that your mother has made bread this morning, and your sister has caught some fish. Would you start preparing the meal?”

“Of course,” Yuuri says and shuffles past them into the tent, careful not to spill any of the water as he gets inside. Mari is already there, preparing the fish she has caught, the scales of them covering the floor in front of her.

“There you are,” she says and looks up for a moment. “The _hokin_ is eating with us tonight. Do we have bread?”

“We have,” Yuuri says and pours the water into the pot that sits on the fire before throwing a few handfuls of rice into it. “Mother will come home soon.”

“Good,” Mari says with a sigh, “because I have no clue how to prepare the fish the way she does.”

“Let me,” Yuuri says and Mari moves out of the way, taking over with the rice as Yuuri busies himself with the fish. Their mother arrives a while later as the rice is almost done and the fish is roasting over the fire, and she arranges it just as beautifully as only she can on a large, wooden plate.

Seeing Victor from afar is one thing.

To share a meal with him, however, is an entirely different matter. They sit around the plate as the sun sets, the lanterns that Yuuri and Mari have made as children lit and illuminating the place where they sit, and they listen to the conversation between their father and the leader of the nomads. It is an easy topic to follow, an exchange about a tournament they have both attended a few years ago, when Yuuri had been still a young boy and Victor had just come of age. Yuuri finds that the man has a pleasant voice – not as deep as he has thought, but it has a nice pitch to it, and he is sure that the _hokin_ must be a good singer. They are talking like old friends, as if they had never been doing anything else.

“I do understand that some people prefer spears nowadays,” Victor says and thanks Hiroko with a smile as she offers him more fish. “But to be honest, I still prefer bow and arrow. It is easier to control, and allows for more precision.”

“I agree,” Toshiya says with a nod. “This is what I have always been saying. I have taught my children personally in archery. Mari is quite the good huntress, but – and I know that my daughter won’t be mad at me for saying so – my Yuuri is the best in our family. Probably the best archer of our clan.”

“It’s true,” Mari says with a mouth full of rice and gestures at Yuuri with the piece of bread she is holding.

“Is that so?” Victor’s gaze falls onto Yuuri and he studies him with the same curiosity and intensity that Yuuri has felt from his gaze before.

“His arrows never miss a target,” Hiroko tells the _hokin_ quite proudly. “Yuuri was holding bow and arrow before he could even walk.”

“So I began to properly teach him once he could actually walk,” Toshiya adds with a chuckle. “And now he is the best archer that we have. He has won quite a few tournaments in the area.”

“That is very impressive,” Victor says with a firm nod. “What kind of bow are you using?”

“Oh, he has made it himself,” Hiroko says. “Why don’t you get it and show it to him, Yuuri?”

Of course, Yuuri has no other option but to get up and fetch his bow, his most valuable possession, and to show it to a man that is hardly more than a stranger to him. His bow is where it always is, in the tent right next to Yuuri’s sleeping spot and far away from the fire. Yuuri picks it up and returns to his family and their guest, who holds out his hands to take the bow from him.

For some reason, Yuuri knows that the bow will be in safe hands.

Victor runs his fingertips over the grain in the wood, studying it the way only a fellow hunter can. “You used oakwood, correct? But from a blood oak.”

“Yes,” Yuuri says and clasps his hands on his lap. “It’s sturdier.”

“Indeed,” Victor agrees and turns the bow in his hands. “And when it gets wet, it does not produce a scent that animals could smell.”

It is not surprising that Victor knows a lot about archery, since it is the main form of hunting practiced amongst both nomads and tribes living in settlements, but Yuuri finds he is glad that someone agrees with him. There are many people who prefer other sorts of wood that is easier to bend into the desired shape. One needs endurance and patience for making a bow from blood oak.

“I used to have one of those myself,” Victor continues and pulls the strings of the bow. “Unfortunately, it broke beyond repair. It was not as good as this one, though.”

He returns the bow to Yuuri’s hands again, who takes it from him and holds it firmly on his lap. “Thank you for letting me take a look at it. I know how precious a bow is to its owner,” the leader of the nomads says. “A fine weapon indeed.”

Yuuri blushes and murmurs a small thank you, and his father takes over the conversation again, giving him the excuse to get up and return his bow to its usual place in the tent. Once he is out of sight, he exhales shakily and holds his bow close to his chest.

Yuuri hates being evaluated. May it be his own person or the things that he does. There are already enough people who think he should not be hunting at all, since he is the way he is. His parents have never cared about that, and neither has the rest of their settlement, but Yuuri knows that their stance is rather unusual. There is no law, of course, that would forbid him to hunt and behave the way he does. He has never allowed any strangers to criticise him for it.

And yet, it feels nice to know that the _hokin_ , who surely knows that Yuuri has the gift of bringing forth new life, acknowledges his skill.

Praises him and his bow, without questioning the words of his family.

He is indeed a most unusual man.

*-*-*-*-*-*

A few days later, Yuuri is helping his mother once more in her tent.

Some of the children – of both tribes, naturally, because mischief never happens on its own – have attempted to ride across the river on the backs of the goats, which has resulted in the animals deciding then and there that they would not be misused for utter nonsense. The goats had promptly thrown the children off and right into the river, causing open hands, open knees, and lots of wet children with crying faces. The floor of his mother’s tent is covered in children of all ages, Hiroko going from one to the next and putting herbs on their wounds. Fortunately, they are minor, and the thing that is hurt the greatest is the children’s pride. Yuuri is busy in the back of the tent, wrapping bandages around the hand of a young nomad girl whose mother sits beside her and chides her vehemently for being so careless. At least that is what Yuuri assumes she is saying, for she speaks to her child in the strange, rough language of the north that he has already heard from Victor. But parents’ talk is universal in every tongue, and Yuuri remembers only too well how his own father and mother have scolded him that age.

He feels a draft of wind as the flap of the tent is pushed aside, followed by the voice that Yuuri has gotten used to over the last few days, its sound ever-present wherever he goes nowadays.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” he hears the _hokin_ say, followed by his mother’s exclaim of surprise.

“How did you do that?” She asks, and whatever it is that he is showing her must amuse her greatly. Yuuri would love to risk a glance, but he still has to take care of the little girl who is now pouting at her mother, who is still scolding her.

“I tried to cut an apple in half,” the _hokin_ explains with a small chuckle. “I am not quite sure how I managed this, though.”

“Well, it is nothing we cannot fix,” Hiroko says. “Yuuri?”

Yuuri secures the bandages of the little girl and pats her head before he turns around, finding his mother and Victor looking at him. The latter is holding his own hand, pressing a cloth to its palm that is already soaked and has turned a deep red.

“Would you please take care of the cut?” His mother asks, and her eyes have this strange sparkle that Yuuri has seen on her before, when Victor had joined them for the evening meal. “I have a few more little ones to attend to.”

“Y-Yes, sure,” Yuuri says and quickly washes his hands in the bowl before gesturing at a free spot on the other side of the tent. Victor bows his head thankfully and sits down where Yuuri directs him to, and does so far too gracefully for a man of his height. Yuuri goes to fetch the usual herbs and bandages, then kneels down before the man, who is already holding out his hand for him. Carefully, Yuuri removes the fabric he has been using to stop the bleeding, revealing a rather ugly, but thankfully not very serious cut right through the _hokin’s_ palm.

“I tried to cut an apple in half,” Victor explains calmly. “My fingers slipped.”

“I see,” Yuuri says and reaches for a clean cloth, dipping it into the water to begin with the process of cleaning the wound. “It is not very deep, fortunately. I don’t think it will leave a scar.”

“Ah, too bad,” the _hokin_ sighs, and Yuuri tries hard to not roll his eyes at that. Far too many men find scars as something to be proud of, as something to show off and parade around. “Although, it is perhaps good that way. It would appear as if I could not handle a knife.”

“I don’t know, can you?” Yuuri asks and the words are out before he even knows what he is saying. Surely, this is not the way to speak to a man like him. But the _hokin_ only chuckles.

“Today, I obviously could not,” he says with amusement in his voice.

Yuuri tries very hard to not meet his gaze.

Cleaning the cut does not take long, as the cut is indeed not very deep, but it surprises him that the man has not even winced once. Not even as he applies a mixture of herbs that will both lessen the pain and support the healing process does he appear to be in pain, and Yuuri carefully wraps clean strips of cloth around the man’s palm. Compared to the _hokin’s_ hand, his own appears almost tiny.

Once Yuuri is done, Victor lifts his hand to take a look at his work. Just then, Hiroko walks over to them to fetch the herbs that Yuuri has been using.

“How is the hand?” She asks, still smiling in the strange way that Yuuri has noticed about her before.

“I believe that I have never had a better bandaged hand,” the leader of the nomads says and bows his head to Yuuri. “Thank you for your help.”

Yuuri, once again flustered by the fact he has been bowed to, barely manages to say “You’re welcome” before getting up and walking away to wash his hands and take care of yet another child that has tried to become the tamer of the floods.

He does not hear what Victor says to his mother before he leaves again.

*-*-*-*-*-*

On the nights when Yuuri cannot sleep, he leaves his family’s tent and sits down at the river’s shore to watch the stars.

He does not know why the night sky gives him comfort, but it does. The silence, the sheer vastness of what lies beyond the heavens has always fascinated him, even as a child. The learned people have told him not to ask about it, to not question what lies beyond what they can see, for that is the realm of the gods and the spirits. It is not for them to know.

But Yuuri can still ask silently, can ask these questions in his thoughts, even though that will not lead to any answers.

Mari says, very often, that he has his head in the clouds, but only when it rains – meaning that his thoughts are the most intense when they are sad ones, when they are heavy on the mind. It is certainly true, and Yuuri knows he has a tendency to rumination that often does more harm than good, but he cannot help it.

Sometimes, he thinks, rumination is also a sort of healing process of wounds that he cannot understand, only feel. It sounds worse than it actually is, and Yuuri would never want to appear ungrateful. After all, he has a good life, and a family that loves him. But something deep inside him is also there, telling him that perhaps, just perhaps, he is not quite satisfied with the way things are. Sometimes, he will acknowledge this feeling and wonder what it means. He never finds an answer that satisfies him, of course, and he has long since given up on finding it. One time, he has shared these thoughts with Yuuko, knowing that she would not laugh at him or find him ridiculous. Of course, she has not quite understood what he meant. He doubts that she does now. She always appears happy. Contented.

Could that be enough?

Thoughts like these often keep him awake.

It is such a night again, and he has retreated to the river’s shore to clear his mind.

But this time, there is someone else, too.

On the other side of the river sits the _hokin_.

Even in the light of the moon, his hair shines bright, as if the moon spirits had kissed his head upon his birth – and perhaps they have. He is facing the moon, his eyes closed in silent meditation, as if sunken deep in prayer. Between his hands, he holds a sword, almost half of its blade buried deep in the ground.

It is an odd picture, but Yuuri cannot look away, even though he knows he should. Everyone knows that moments like these are not meant to be witnessed by outsiders, and he certainly is one from the nomad’s perspective. Perhaps this is a ritual, perhaps this is a simple prayer, or part of a ceremony – perhaps the _hokin_ is just enjoying the night, but it looks far too important for the act to be of no importance.

Yuuri knows he should turn away and leave.

But he is spellbound, cannot help but watch the man, cannot help but realise that he is even more beautiful than he has already secretly thought he was.

Victor is heartbreakingly beautiful. Even more so now.

Suddenly, the _hokin_ shifts, rising from his cross-legged seat into a kneeling position, and Yuuri rushes to hide behind a tree. The hokin then rises to his feet, pulls the sword out of the ground, and begins to wield it as if he were dancing with an invisible opponent. It is a mesmerising sight, its importance unknown to Yuuri, but he knows that what he sees is something very private. A moment not meant to be seen by him.

And so, he tears his eyes away from the other man and quietly walks back to his parents’ tent under the protection of the shadows cast by the trees.

He remains unseen and unheard.

But once he lies on his mat again and buries his face in the fur, he notices how fast his heart is beating.

Only as the sun begins to rise again, he manages to fall asleep.

*-*-*-*-*-*

In the end, it is Mari who shakes him awake the morning that will change the course of his life.

She shakes him rather violently, knowing well that Yuuri is a deep sleeper and cannot be easily awoken once sleep has claimed him. But she is determined, shaking him vehemently as she keeps hissing into his hear. “Yuuri!”, she hisses, patting his cheek. “Yuuri, wake up! Quick!”

Yuuri almost knocks their heads together as he sits up in an instant, Mari moving away just in time to avoid their heads knocking together.

“Mari, wha—”

“Victor is here,” Mari says in a hushed voice and throws a quick glance at the flap of the tent.

“Huh?” Yuuri knows he is not quite awake, but even in his state, he is sensible enough to know that this is not a piece of information that justifies his sister’s behaviour.

“The _hokin_ is talking to father,” Mari says with vigour. “About you.”

“Eh?”

Mari nods quickly. “I just heard it now. He wants to marry you.”

Yuuri stares at his sister for a very long moment.

“ _What?_ ”

He scrambles out of bed and, together with Mari, he crouches down by the flap of the tent as close as they can without being discovered. Inside his chest, his heart is beating as rapidly as it never has before.

“He came right after sunrise,” Mari whispers into his ear as she kneels down beside him and instinctively wraps her arm around him, always the protective older sister. “I was just out getting water from the river when he came up to father and said that he wants to marry you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Yuuri hisses, but he knows, deep down, that Mari would never joke about such an important thing. Not about the most important decision his parents will ever make for him. A decision that is already somewhat overdue.

But Yuuri certainly had not expected it would come like this.

They can hardly hear a thing of what their father and the hokin are talking about except for a few bits and pieces, and none of it gives them a comprehensible idea of the discussion. Surely, his father is aware that he is sleeping in the tent still, and has not wanted to have him wake up to the sound of his future being discussed. They are most likely sitting at the very far end of the awning, by the fire.

The other flap of the tent opens and Yuuri and Mari jump back as if hit by a leash, just before their mother comes in with a knowing smile on her lips. “Good morning to you both,” she hums and sets down the basket she has been carrying.

“What the hell is going on out there?” Mari asks her in a hushed voice, gesturing at the other side of the tent.

“You know that very well,” Hiroko chuckles and sits down beside her children, taking Yuuri’s hand. “We have finally found a suitable match for you.”

Yuuri’s mouth suddenly feels very, very dry.

He glances at the front entrance of the tent, just as he hears Victor laugh heartily, the sound as clear as bells.

He looks back at his mother. “Is it…”

Hiroko nods. “He came to your father just after sunrise and has asked for your hand in marriage. After seeing you together, your father and I are much inclined to agree.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Yuuri asks with a frown, not understanding at all. “After seeing us together?”

Hiroko laughs softly and gives her son a knowing look. “Flying around each other like happy sparrows,” she says and squeezes his hand. “I noticed right away that he had taken a particular liking to you. A man like him does not just cut his hand like that by accident.”

“Wha—”

“How can we even know that he is good enough for Yuuri?” Mari interrupts him rather rudely. “Just because he is the _hokin_ that doesn’t mean he will treat him well.”

“He will,” Hiroko says with determination, and in a tone that makes very much clear that she would hunt him down personally if he were to do the opposite. “We would not accept anything less for Yuuri. Or for you, Mari.”

Mari huffs, but says nothing more and sits down more comfortably, crossing both her legs and arms as she throws nervous glances at the flap of the tent. Outside, there is the chatter of people walking by, of children laughing, of dogs barking. It is all too loud, all of it is too much, when there is only one thing they want to hear.

“Do you have any objections, Yuuri?” Hiroko asks then, and her tone becomes even more serious. “If so, you must say them now.”

There are not many objections that would be considered valid in the eyes of his tribe, Yuuri knows that, for it is the parents that make the decision, and their wisdom and judgement must be respected above all else. Only if he were to know about a serious issue regarding his potential partner, or if there were justified concerns about his future wellbeing and safety, only then it would be appropriate to speak up.

But there is nothing that speaks against Victor.

Absolutely nothing.

On the contrary, even. There are so many things that speak for Victor. Not only is he the _hokin_ , and therefore powerful and influential, but he is, as far as Yuuri can tell, also kind and just. His people respect him and he respects them in return, speaking to both men and women as equals. Not once has he raised his voice so far against anyone. He has reached out to them, has exchanged ideas and opinions with the people of Hasetsu. He has proven to be a good man.

And yet, it is too little to know if it is enough for the basis of a marriage. Of a life together, in this world and in the next.

No, he does not have any objections that would matter.

Hiroko wraps her arms around Yuuri and hugs him tight. “You’ll see how it will all turn out just the way it is meant to be,” she says and kisses the top of his head.

Yuuri wants to reply, but before he can even come up with a comprehensible thought, he hears his father calling his name.

His mother smiles and pulls back, helping him into proper clothing, since he is still in his sleeping shirt, and fixing his hair. “Go,” she whispers and, with a proud smile, pushes him towards the tent’s entrance.

The sun blinds Yuuri as he steps outside on shaking legs, and he needs a moment to adjust to his surroundings. His father is, as expected, sitting on the far end of the large fur they use to sit on under the canopy. Right by the fireplace, with the _hokin_ by his side.

“There he is,” his father says as he sees him and beckons him closer to join them by the fire. “Come, come.”

Victor greets him with a nod and a small smile, his gaze benevolent and warm as Yuuri, feeling as ungraceful as he could possibly be, makes his way over to his father. Of course, his father knows that his mother has already been speaking to Yuuri, and that the rest of the conversation will be only formalities. But nonetheless, Toshiya regards his son favourably and pats the spot right by his side to explain it all once again to his son.

“Your mother and I have agreed that you shall become Victor’s mate,” he says once Yuuri has taken a seat and glances at Victor, whose gaze is entirely fixed on Yuuri, as if utterly fascinated by him. “We are certain that we could not be giving you into better hands than into his. He will be a good husband to you, and you will be welcomed warmly by his people as one of their own. He has given me his word.”

Yuuri barely manages to meet the other man’s eyes.

Now that the moment has come, the most defining moment of his life, he fails to believe it. Although he should have seen it coming, as he has been of marriageable age for quite some time now, and he has been aware of his parents looking here and there for a suitable match. Yes, he even knew that there were some families who had officially asked about him, but as none of them had been found suitable, his parents had never really mentioned anyone to him.

And just like that, his life has been decided for him for good.

“Yuuri?”

Victor’s voice is soft, tender almost as he says his name, and Yuuri cannot help but look at him.

It would be only understandable to be cautious now, to not simply trust the other man without question, but Yuuri finds that he does. There is nervousness, yes, the natural thrill of the moment sitting deep in his stomach and spreading through every vein, but there is no fear as he meets Victor’s gaze properly. The moment their eyes find each other, the storm inside Yuuri seems to calm.

“May I call you Yuuri?” Victor asks carefully and shifts on his seat, almost as if he were actually nervous. Yuuri gives a small nod, not knowing what else he could possibly call him.

“I want you to know that I am not making a frivolous decision,” Victor says calmly. “Fact is that I have been without a partner ever since because I found myself unable to find someone whose nature and whose spirit spoke to mine in consonance. With you, I have the certainty that it is so. So let me assure you that my affection for you is genuine.” He pauses at that, and Yuuri sees a faint blush on the other man’s pale cheeks. “And that you will have a good life at my side as my _hokin-shi_ ,” Victor adds softly. “Should you accept my proposal, that is.”

At that, Yuuri cannot help but stare at the other man, utterly dumbfounded. Certainly, Yuuri knows that marriage is not something that he can decide for himself, but that his parents make this very important decision for him. That is how it always has been, and it is best that way. They know him, and they know what he needs. What kind of match is best for him.

“Do you wish to accept, Yuuri?” His father asks him and pulls him out of his thoughts. Yuuri looks at him, sees how confident his father looks, how happy he is about this match that has come entirely out of the blue. His mother, Yuuri knows already, feels just the same.

This is what they want for him.

This is what they think is right.

“I understand if you need some time to—” Victor begins, but Yuuri bows his head in the fashion of his people before he can offend the _hokin_ even more by not giving an answer right away.

“I feel very honoured,” he says, “and I accept.”

He looks up again, finding Victor regarding him thoughtfully, but also with unabashed joy. Victor is smiling, a kind of smile that Yuuri has had yet to see on him, but it adorns his face most beautifully. It spreads across his face, lights up his eyes, and it is only meant for Yuuri.

“It is I who feels honoured,” Victor says and bows his head in return, even deeper than ever before. “And I thank your father and mother that they allow me to take care of you.” He smiles at someone behind Yuuri, who realises that his mother and his sister have joined them. Mari looks still sceptical of everything, but she remains silent.

They all rise, now that everything has been decided, but Victor does not take his eyes off Yuuri.

“I have a gift for you,” he says. “May I?”

Yuuri frowns softly as his parents and sister suddenly busy themselves with all sorts of things around the tent, trying to give them at least the illusion of privacy. Of course, they will not let them out of their sight, not until they are married for good, but this is as good as it gets for now.

Victor reaches into his shirt and pulls out something that has been wrapped in leather. Slowly, Victor unwraps it, revealing a beautifully forged dagger with ornaments carved into the wooden handle. It must have cost a fortune, Yuuri cannot help but think as Victor takes his hand and places the dagger and the leather cloth in his palm.

“A custom of my people,” the hokin says, his fingertips cool against Yuuri’s knuckles. “As a promise of protection. But also a sign of my affection towards you.”

Yuuri cannot help but blush furiously at those words, words that the _hokin_ speaks so freely, as if they were not being watched by both his family and the entire settlement. His own people are probably also watching from the other side of the river.

But that, Yuuri knows, should not keep him from thanking Victor appropriately, and to speak to him the way he deserves. From now on, Victor is no longer a stranger to him.

“Thank you,” he says. “It is beautiful.”

Victor beams at him. “I am glad that you like it,” he says and wraps the leather around the knife again before he closes Yuuri’s fingers around it. And then, he steps a little closer, and presses a gentle kiss to Yuuri’s forehead.

It lasts only a second, and the moment is over before Yuuri can even begin to understand what is happening. Victor has stepped back again, his hand still holding Yuuri’s, and he smiles with a confidence about their future together that touches Yuuri deeply.

“Until then,” he says softly, then lets go of him and walks away.

Yuuri is sure that his sister is saying something to him, but he does not hear it.

*-*-*-*-*-*

They marry in the fashion of Victor’s people.

There is no elaborate ceremony, there are no grand gestures. It takes place just before nightfall, just as the sun is slowly beginning to set, on the other side of the river.

There is, of course, some sort of ritual that Yuuri finds himself to be absolutely not prepared for, but fortunately, that does not matter. The nomads, he has been told, prefer simplicity over unnecessary, wasteful things, and he now sees that confirmed. When one lives like them, always moving, always ready to leave, one does not see the need for wedding preparations that can last for days.

Their wedding is a special occasion nonetheless.

As Yuuri’s family brings him across the river, Victor awaits him already. Both of them have dressed for the occasion, with Victor wearing leather of a rich, dark red colour ornamented with embroidery of a black thread, and a pristine, white fur around his shoulders. Yuuri’s own robe has a dark blue colour, which speaks of its value, as blue fabric is expensive and hard to come by. Over the years, his parents have collected enough of it to make wedding attire from it, and they are proud to show that they can give their son into the hands of his husband in prosperity and with an abundance of gifts. Around his neck, Yuuri wears a jade necklace that he has inherited from his grandfather, and his shoes are made of the softest leather. It would only take one look from a stranger to determine that he is a young man ready to be married, and about to be given into the care of the one that his parents have chosen for him.

As he steps down from the raft, Victor takes his hands and pulls him safely onto the grass. Then, he kisses him on the forehead, in both greeting and blessing as he welcomes his betrothed into their clan.

“How beautiful you are,” he says as he steps back again.

“Thank you,” Yuuri says and hopes that he is not blushing too much. “You… you look very nice, too.”

“Thank you,” Victor says with the radiant smile that he has given Yuuri before, the very one that knocks the breath out of his lungs. “Come with me.”

He links Yuuri’s arm with his own and leads him to the centre of their camp, his family and the people of Hasetsu close behind. Their way is lined by men, women, and children who smile and nod at them, especially at Yuuri, who is not used to such attention at all. In the centre of the camp, there is a large fireplace, with countless mats and furs surrounding it to sit on. On them, there are bowls with various kinds of food and jugs with water and other beverages, and Yuuri cannot help but wonder if the nomads carry those with them at all times when they travel.

Victor takes him right to the centre, right before the fireplace, and the others take their seats around them until they are the only ones left standing. All eyes are on them, and Yuuri can feel their gaze on his back, but with Victor right before him, he has someone to focus on. Victor, who clasps his hand around Yuuri’s hand holds them up between them for everyone to see. His grip is tight, but not too much, and speaks more of protection than of force.

Just then, Yuuri realises that he has no idea what is expected of him. He does not know what he is supposed to do, what he is meant to say, what he is meant to promise. Panic rises in him, and he is sure he will bring shame to both Victor and his parents now, but Victor merely squeezes his hand.

“Repeat after me,” he whispers and even _winks_ at him, the mere gesture making Yuuri’s heart flutter for a reason he does not yet understand.

“Beloved, I seek to know of you, and ask of the Gods and Goddesses that I be given the wisdom to see you as you are, and love you as a mystery,” Victor says, loud and for everyone to hear, nodding at Yuuri who hastens to repeat after him, stumbling over words and messing them up. But Victor keeps smiling in encouragement, holds his hand in support, as he speaks vows that Yuuri has never heard before, but that are holy to Victor’s people. “I will take joy in you, I delight in the love of you. You are to me the whispering of the tides, the seduction of summer’s heat. You are my friend, my lover, grow old and wise with me, as I will do with you. A life before us of rainbows and sunsets, and a willingness to share in happiness and in sadness. My love belongs to you, my adoration belongs to you. My heart belongs to you.”

Yuuri knows he is hardly speaking loud enough, knows that most of the bystanders cannot hear him. But Victor hears him, and Victor’s smile grows wider and wider, so much that Yuuri cannot help but smile himself as he repeats the ancient vows of Victor’s people and binds their lives together. His heart skips a beat as he speaks the final words and Victor brings his hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Then, he lets go of him, and reaches for the white fur he wears around his shoulders. He takes it off and puts it around Yuuri instead, tying it on the front. It is warm, and incredibly soft, and Yuuri shivers as Victor suddenly grasps his chin and presses yet another kiss to his forehead.

Only then, the spell is broken and the people begin to cheer. Yuuri blinks in confusion, but Victor only laughs, taking him by the arm and leading him to a carpet that has been left empty just for them. There, Yuuri sees his family, his mother and father smiling at him, his mother even crying softly as she sees them together. Once he is within reach, she cups his cheeks and kisses him, giving him a mother’s blessing, and even Mari reaches out to pat his back.

Similar things happen to Victor, with men and women patting his back and shoulder to congratulate him before they finally let them through to take a seat and let the celebrations begin.

Although the wedding ceremony in itself has been very simple, and although there is no trace of the elaborate customs that some others indulge in at the event of a wedding, the celebrations of the nomads are no less joyous. There is food and drink, there is music and singing, and the unabashed joy about their union that touches Yuuri deeply. He has been concerned that the nomads would perhaps not like the fact their leader is marrying someone that is not of their own kind, but they all smile at him and congratulate him, as if they were already accepting him as part of their people.

Victor certainly does, for he keeps Yuuri so impossibly close to his side that it should be considered scandalous. Never does he remove his arm from around Yuuri’s waist, always holds him close and secure, even as they eat and drink. As night falls and Yuuri begins to slightly shiver, Victor even pulls him into his lap to sit there, much to Yuuri’s shock and much to the amusement of the nomads, who apparently find this sort of behaviour of their _hokin_ not odd at all.

Yuuri cannot deny that, sitting in Victor’s lap and leaning against his chest, he is not feeling cold anymore. Victor’s arm is resting loosely around Yuuri’s middle, his hand not even attempting to touch him where it would not be appropriate. “Is this alright?” He asks him, and Yuuri is sure he is blushing again as he gives a small nod. It is very much alright. It is comforting. Affectionate. As if such behaviour were natural for them already.

Just like two newlyweds should be.

“Yuuri,” Victor says again, this time right into his ear. “Do you see the horse over there, right under the tree?”

Yuuri follows the direction of Victor’s gesture, spotting a pretty, brown horse under one of the trees near the largest tent of the camp. It is slightly smaller than the others, but nonetheless beautiful and without a doubt very strong if she belongs to the nomads. After all, they are famous for their horses.

“I see it,” he says. “What about it?”

“She is my wedding gift to you,” Victor says and gives his waist a soft squeeze.

“For me?” Yuuri’s breath hitches in his throat, for he knows very well how expensive a horse of that kind is.

Victor hums in confirmation. “Do you like her?”

What kind of question is that?

“I… I do,” Yuuri assures him and turns his head to meet Victor’s gaze. “She is very beautiful. But… I do not have a gift for you.”

Victor chuckles and kisses his temple, already awfully affectionate with him despite the fact they have been married for two hours only. “I am sure that you will give me the most valuable gifts in the future,” he says, and Yuuri’s heart flutters at the meaning of Victor’s words. He knows very well, after all, what those most valuable gifts will be. In due time.

“Are you still hungry?” Victor asks him and pulls a basket with bread closer. “There is plenty to eat.”

“I’m… I’m full,” Yuuri replies. “But thank you.”

“Would you like some water? Or wine?” Victor suggests. “I saw that you did not drink any wine.”

“I did not mean to offend—”

“Nonsense,” Victor assures him calmly. “You may eat and drink whatever you like. Do you like wine at all?”

“Well…” Yuuri thinks back to his first and last time drinking wine in great embarrassment. What a fool he had made of himself that night, the night when he had come of age and his parents had allowed him to taste sake. “I do not handle it well.”

“No?” Victor chuckles and Yuuri can feel his chest vibrate. “To be fair, sake is rather strong. We have different sorts of wine, perhaps one of them is better for you. But do not feel pressured into drinking wine, yes?”

Again, he kisses him on the temple so casually as if they had been married for a long time already, and not just for a few hours. What the others must think of this, Yuuri does not even want to imagine. His own people must find it all very strange, whereas the nomads do not seem to bat an eye at anything that Victor does. In fact, Yuuri realises as he lets his gaze wander, the nomads are rather affectionate with their partners. There are other men and women sitting in the laps of their partners for everyone to see, so they are by far not the only ones.

“Would you like to meet your horse?” Victor asks then as a group of youths begins a rather silly dance around the fire and catches everyone’s attention. It is the perfect moment to get away for a bit, and Yuuri would be a fool to not follow his husband now. He nods, and they rise as elegantly as they can from the ground, and Yuuri finds his arm taken by Victor again as they walk past the dancing youths and away from the fire, deeper into the camp. They walk past the large tent, which Yuuri assumes must surely be for ceremonial purposes or storage, and approach the pretty, brown mare that peacefully grazes under the tree. The other horses are also there, some of them sleeping, others lifting their heads as they approach. The mare is the most curious of them all, for she lifts her head and neighs softly as Victor takes Yuuri to her and reaches out to pat her neck.

“Isn’t she gorgeous?” Victor asks proudly. “I caught and tamed her myself.”

Yuuri allows himself to imagine what that must have looked like – Victor on a horse, catching this wild, untamed creature out in the fields, his silver hair blowing in the wind. A truly majestic picture, most likely. One that impresses Yuuri deeply, even as just an imagination.

“She is very beautiful,” Yuuri agrees and holds out his hand for the horse to sniff.

“You do know how to ride, I guess?” Victor asks. “It’s not an issue if you don’t.”

“I do know how to ride, yes,” Yuuri tells him with a small chuckle. “But I rarely do. We do not rely so much on horses. I usually went out to hunt by foot. Or with my dog.”

“You have a dog?” Victor asks curiously.

Yuuri averts his gaze as he strokes the horse’s head. “Had. He… He became sick and died.”

Victor says nothing for a long moment, during which Yuuri is sure that he has just made a fool of himself. Only children cry over lost pets.

“I know very well how you are feeling,” Victor says then, sounding strangely somber. “My loyal companion died last year. Her name was Makkachin. Far too tame for a dog that travels with nomads, but she was my pride and joy. She thought the world was her friend.” A smile, albeit a sad one, appears on Victor’s face. Seeing him like this, Yuuri finds all the stories about him hard to believe. The stories paint Victor in a very different light, and although he is certain that the tales of his victories are true, he doubts that Victor is the ruthless killer the tales claim that he is. He simply cannot be.

“My Vicchan was similar,” Yuuri says, “but also very stubborn. He would not move from the spot until I had successfully hunted something. Even if it was just a bird.”

“You always felt better then,” Victor concludes. “Animals have their own way of knowing and seeing the world. It is a realm inaccessible for humankind. Their spirits are closely tied to nature, more than ours. Some say that we have lost these abilities over time, that we sacrificed them in order to become what we are. But what was it in the end all good for, if all we do with it is to start wars and bring sorrow and pain to each other.”

Victor shakes his head with a small sigh.

“You are very wise,” Yuuri says softly, and he means it. But Victor merely shrugs.

“We both know that wisdom means very little in a world which chooses the law of the strongest as its preferred currency,” he says and takes Yuuri’s hands into his own, bringing them to his lips and kissing his knuckles. The gesture comes so very out of the blue that Yuuri blushes deeply, fortunately not very visible in the dark.

“Your hands are cold,” Victor says as he holds them. “Would you like to warm up inside?”

With his head, he gestures at a tent nearby.

This is it.

With the small nod he gives in return, Yuuri knows he is sealing his fate, and Victor takes his arm as he leads him away. He is not cold per se, but he cannot help but shiver in both nervousness and anticipation as Victor leads the way, past the horses and right to the large tent that Yuuri has noticed before.

It is, in fact, not used for ceremonial purposes or for storage. It is the _hokin’s_ tent, and therefore, also his own. The realisation begins to dawn on Yuuri as he and Victor step inside and warmth surrounds them, just like a soothing, calming silence that shuts out the ongoing celebrations. They have not even bid any of them goodnight.

“Come,” Victor says and leads Yuuri inside, right to the centre where a fire awaits them. The floor is covered in beautiful carpets, all of them of rich, deep colours, with the colour red especially present. Even the ceiling is ornamented with long bands, meaning to add colour as well as to hold the tent together. There are embroidered cushions to sit on, small tables between them with bowls that hold fruit or bread, or carafes filled with water and wine next to beautiful, golden cups. On a particularly beautiful table stands some sort of teapot, the reddish material of which it is made unknown to Yuuri, but it reflects the flames of the fire.

Victor leads Yuuri right to the cushion beside said table and has him take a seat there.

“Here it is the warmest,” he says and Yuuri thanks him softly, holding out his hands to warm them at the fire. Victor does not join him right away, but goes to the other side of the tent where a pile of firewood has been neatly stacked. He grabs two pieces and adds them to the fire to keep it going, although there is still plenty of wood the flames could feast on. But, Yuuri thinks, it is better to add it now than later, when they would not like to be disturbed.

Victor sits down on the other cushion, resting his arm casually on his knee.

“Do you like it?” He asks Yuuri, gesturing vaguely at their surroundings.

Yuuri nods, letting his gaze wander more openly now. There are strings with dried fruits hanging from the ceiling, those of the kind that fills a room with a lovely smell. The walls of the tent are ornamented with more carpets and furs, one more beautiful than the other. In a corner, there are some pots and pans that have been neatly stacked, right next to bags and jars which are probably filled with food. On the other side of the tent, a large curtain hangs from the ceiling, separating the public sphere from the private sphere, just like at home. That side, however, seems to be just as spacious as the one they are in right now, and Yuuri begins to wonder how big the tent of the _hokin_ really is.

“It is very cosy,” Yuuri says. “It reminds me of my grandmother’s tent in a way. She had cushions everywhere, and always a pot of tea ready for visitors.”

Victor smiles at the praise. “That sounds like my own grandmother,” he says. “She would always have me sit with her by the fire and give me coffee to drink. My mother would be furious, because then I would not sleep at night.” He chuckles at the memory and reaches for Yuuri’s hand again to kiss it. His lips are tender on Yuuri’s skin, almost shy, even. But they do not fail to have the desired effect on Yuuri, who once more blushes deeply at the other man’s sweet gesture. It should be forbidden, Yuuri thinks, for Victor to look at him like this. As if he were the most breathtaking thing in the world, as if nothing else mattered.

“I’m very happy that you are here with me, Yuuri,” Victor says softly and squeezes his hand. “Incredibly happy.”

This time, Yuuri truly cannot hide the colour that rises to his cheeks. He swallows and looks down at his hand that is covered by Victor’s, which is much bigger than his own, but incredibly gentle.

“I’m happy, too,” Yuuri whispers, and he really means it. He does not know what it is that draws him to Victor, but it clearly is there. Perhaps his mother has been right, and they have been indeed flying around each other like sparrows. Getting married was something Yuuri has seen as inevitable, especially for someone like him who has the gift of bringing forth new life, but he has certainly not expected the impact it would have on him. In his head, it had always seemed so simple, something that his parents would simply decide for him and that would be it. And although it has come just this way, with his parents accepting Victor’s proposal for him, none of it has felt forced. Not even for a moment.

Being with Victor feels just as natural as breathing.

Victor, whose eyes shine with joy as Yuuri tells him of his happiness, and who brings up his hand to touch Yuuri’s cheek. “How beautiful you are when you smile,” he says and brushes his thumb across Yuuri’s cheekbone as he leans forward and comes closer, his breath mingling with Yuuri’s. “I could get lost in it.”

Somewhere, deep down, Yuuri wants to give a witty remark, but finds himself spellbound by Victor’s touch and his gentleness instead. There are many things he has been told to expect, but being showered in compliments, being showered in affection, has certainly not been part of it. Not to this extent, at least. But Victor is there, his hand on Yuuri’s cheek, tracing the line of his jaw down to his chin with endless patience. Not as if Yuuri were his possession, but as if he were a marvel to behold, a jewel to be admired. Yuuri knows that he is none of these things. But Victor touches him as if it were so, grasping his chin with utter tenderness as he leans in and kisses him on the lips. It is soft, gentle, and the purest form of affection between mates that there is, and Yuuri is getting drunk on it. How could he be deserving of this already, when they hardly know each other?

Victor pulls away, his hand still caressing his cheek as Yuuri opens his eyes again and looks at his husband with wonder. Victor smiles.

“I told you that my affection for you was genuine,” he says, “I do not cut my hand on purpose for just anyone.”

Yuuri’s eyes widen. “I thought my mother was joking!” He blurts out, and Victor begins to chuckle.

“I knew that she had seen right through me the moment I walked in with a bleeding hand,” he admits and blushes a bit himself. “But when she told you to stitch me up, I thought that my advances were perhaps not unwelcome.”

Yuuri lets out an embarrassed whine and shakes his head before taking Victor’s hand that is still wrapped in bandages, albeit fresh ones that his mother or perhaps Victor himself must have put on. “Does it still hurt?” He asks him, receiving a headshake in return.

“Not at all,” Victor assures him and begins to remove the bandages to show him how nicely the cut has already healed. “I merely leave them on for protection now.”

Yuuri carefully runs his fingertip across the thin, pink line on Victor’s palm. “Please do not do such a thing again,” he says to Victor, “especially not for me, _hokin_.”

Victor shakes his head. “Only if you let me be Victor to you,” he says and his hand closes around Yuuri’s fingers. It is the exact opposite of what he has been told to do by his parents, who have advised him strongly to address his husband by his title in the beginning, until they would become more comfortable with and around each other – yes, until calling each other in such an intimate fashion would happen naturally. Once more, Victor is foregoing all that is regarded as appropriate for them, and does so with the genuine kindness and affection that he radiates.

And Yuuri can do little but to nod and accept what his husband asks of him. “I shall call you Victor, then,” he says, and Victor smiles even more, leaning forward to kiss him again. This time, his hand is in Yuuri’s nape, cupping his skull as they taste each other’s lips in curious exploration. Warmth begins to pool in Yuuri’s belly, and he feels a tugging sensation much, much lower that speaks to him in a language reserved for moments between mates only. He is sure that Victor can feel and hear it, too, for he pants a little as he pulls away again and rests his forehead against Yuuri’s.

His heartbeat is most treacherous.

Victor pulls back just enough to meet his gaze, but his hand never leaves Yuuri’s nape, the other one now resting on Yuuri’s thigh. It never ventures further.

“Are you comfortable with me, Yuuri?” Victor asks quietly. “It is perfectly reasonable to be nervous when one hardly knows the other.”

“I am not nervous,” Yuuri replies, and truly, he is not. He was told to be proud on the night of his wedding, to be proud to be married and have a mate, to be proud to be taken to bed. But there is more to this, he finds, now that he sits before Victor and is held by him, is appreciated by him. He is anticipating what awaits him behind the curtain, in the bed he is soon to call his own, anticipating to share with Victor what is meant to happen between mates when the world is left shut out. “I want to be here,” he adds, “and I feel comfortable with you. Very… very much so.”

Victor remains quiet for a moment, a moment in which they can only hear the crackling of the fire and the laughter and voices from their wedding celebrations. Finally, he brushes a strand of hair out of Yuuri’s face and smiles warmly at him, in a way that Yuuri already knows is reserved for him only. For the _hokin-shi_. “May I take you to bed, then?” He whispers.

Yuuri gives him a kiss in response, feeling Victor’s arms around him as he lifts him up and carries him away from the fire, away from the centre of their tent to what is the private sphere, and reserved for them only. It is just as richly ornamented as the rest of the tent, with glowing embers in metal bowls keeping their sleeping space warm. The bed where Victor eventually puts Yuuri down is bigger than any bed that Yuuri has seen in his life, made of countless blankets, cushions, and warm furs. It is big enough for at least three adults to comfortably sleep in, far too big in Yuuri’s eyes, but he cannot help but marvel at it, and the soft fur underneath him as Victor puts him down to sit on the bed’s edge. There, Victor goes down on one knee before him, and takes his hands anew.

“Before we continue,” he says, “I want you to know that this is your marriage bed just as it is mine. In it, nothing shall happen that you do not want. The very last thing I want to cause you is pain, may it be pain of the body or of the heart. Do you understand?”

Yuuri blinks in surprise at Victor’s passionate words, and for a moment, he is tempted to tell him that there is no need to tell him that, that he trusts him either way, but he can see in Victor’s eyes that this is not what his husband wants to hear. “I understand,” he says and gives Victor’s hands a small squeeze this time to reassure him.

“Good.” Victor kisses his knuckles and rises, moving to sit beside Yuuri. “My people believe this to be the holiest place for a couple. Where children are conceived, born, and nursed. But also where we can be entirely ourselves.”

“That is a very romantic notion,” Yuuri says. “But also a very wise one.”

“That may be,” Victor agrees, his hand coming up to the strings that hold the white fur around Yuuri’s shoulder’s together. “May I?”

Yuuri shivers as he gives Victor permission to take it off him, the fur that he has put around him as a sign of protection and as a gift. It comes off easily, falling down Yuuri’s back and onto the bed, from where Victor picks it up and sets it aside. Next comes Yuuri’s necklace made of jade, finding its place sitting on top of the white fur. For his robe, he has to stand up, and he shows Victor where it has been tied on the back. It takes Victor a moment to loosen the knots, and Yuuri shivers as Victor pulls it over his head and leaves him standing in his shift. But instead of taking of that one, too, Victor takes Yuuri’s hands and guides them to the strings of his own clothing, so that he may undress him in return. Yuuri blushes again, but makes quick work of the strings keeping Victor’s clothing together. It is much heavier, much sturdier than Yuuri has thought, and he freezes the moment he realises that Victor, unlike him, wears nothing underneath. Fortunately, Victor notices, and finishes the rest for him.

Of course, Yuuri knows what men like Victor look like. He knows the difference between them, the difference between those who plant the seed of life, and those who cultivate it. And yet, he does not dare to look, not because he is afraid, but because he is in awe of Victor’s beauty and his patience. He has heard of much quicker wedding nights than this, acts performed within minutes with little time wasted, with much less conversation and no exchanges of affection. All of this, Victor could have. He is stronger than Yuuri, could overpower him easily.

But he merely stands before him, his hand finding Yuuri’s as if it had never been searching for anything else. And then, they sit down, on the bed that they will from now on share.

“I would like to see you,” Victor tells him, his other hand on the hem of his shift, “but only if you allow me.”

It takes a moment for Yuuri to realise what he means, and the blush spreads all the way down to his navel as realisation hits him. “O-Of course,” he says and shifts a little so that Victor can pull the last piece of clothing over his head. It ends up by the side, with the rest, and Victor lifts Yuuri into his arms again, moving to the centre of the bed with him. There, he puts him down, on a fur that feels incredibly soft to Yuuri’s skin, and gives him an instant feeling of home.

Yuuri can feel Victor’s eyes on his bare skin as he kneels above him, not judging, not evaluating, and only lasting for a moment until their eyes meet again. Their lips find each other in the same fashion, curious and exploring, shy yet encouraging, just like their hands that have begun to trace the secret pathways of their bodies. Victor’s fingertips leave hot trails on Yuuri’s skin wherever they touch, from his chest over his navel to his thighs, all the way down to his ankles. It is highly addictive, and absolutely nothing like Yuuri thought it would be. It is much slower, a lot more tender, all of done with such patience that there really appears to be no need to rush. Not their touches, not their kisses.

“How beautiful you are beneath me,” Victor whispers into his ear and kisses his neck, right on a spot of which Yuuri has not known it could be so sensitive. The moment he feels Victor’s lips, he lets out a small gasp. Victor notices it, of course, and kisses him there again, and again, the tip of his nose brushing the line of Yuuri’s jaw as he instinctively bares his neck to his husband and offers him better access. Now he understands why those that are married never truly kiss each other in public, if it can so quickly lead to such pleasures. Victor pulls away before it all gets too much, kissing Yuuri on the lips again instead, his hands caressing Yuuri’s sides and waist.

“Tell me if there is something you do not like,” he whispers against Yuuri’s mouth, his hand moving further down to grasp Yuuri’s thigh and settle between his legs. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” Yuuri breathes, sure that there possibly could not be anything that he would not like, not if it was Victor doing it to him. The next thing he feels is a slight sting, and his breath hitches in his throat as he feels Victor going into him, claiming him as his mate for good. It feels strange, incredibly strange, but only because he is not used to it. He holds onto Victor, grabs the fur he lies on with one hand and almost forgets to breathe as Victor sinks deeper into him and eventually stills above him, his face buried in Yuuri’s neck.

His heart, Yuuri realises, is beating rapidly.

And then, Victor begins to move, his hands tightly holding onto Yuuri’s waist as he thrusts into him slowly and with precision, his breath hot against Yuuri’s skin. Yuuri hisses as the sting between his legs intensifies, and he bites down on his lower lip to hide the discomfort – as he should, according to the advice he has been given, in order to ensure a successful first mating – but Victor has already heard him. His hips stop moving, and he lifts his head, his hand coming up to cup Yuuri’s cheek.

“Does it hurt?” He asks, a little out of breath, but very much aware of the situation.

Yuuri is about to deny it, but then he remembers what he has promised Victor only moments ago, and that a lie right at the beginning of their marriage, even a small one, would do more harm than good.

“A little,” he whispers.

Victor hesitates for a moment, as if taking a pause to think. Then, he reaches blindly to the side and grabs one of the cushions that line their sleeping space, lifts Yuuri up with one hand and slides the cushion underneath his hips. Yuuri frowns, not sure if that is what will bring change, but then he feels Victor move even deeper thanks to the changed angle, brushing a certain spot, and forgotten is any kind of discomfort. He lets out a shaky breath, one that is apparently rather telling of how he feels, for Victor smiles and kisses him. “Better?” He whispers.

All Yuuri can do is nod.

It is remarkable, he thinks as Victor moves again, how much a little change in angle and posture can apparently do. To have Victor this close, to feel him, to touch him, to hear his heart beat together with his own is something no well-meaning conversations could have possibly prepared him for. But all of it feels so incredibly natural – every touch, every caress, every kiss that they share appears as if it had always been meant to be. And although Yuuri can tell that Victor is being more careful with him than he would have to be, he can see, feel, and hear the passion that his husband puts into the act. And _oh_ , it is addictive. With every thrust that brushes that one spot inside him, Yuuri lets out a gasp, each one louder than the last, and every time, Victor will move a little faster, will hold him a little tighter, will whisper sweet nothings into his ear in a language that Yuuri does not understand. His breath hitches in his throat, and he brings his hand up to his mouth out of sheer instinct, biting down on his own knuckles as the sweet, sweet pain in his lower regions becomes unbearable.

A quiet cry is all that comes over his lips as bliss washes over him and takes him to a realm unknown before.

Victor’s hips stutter, his hands grab Yuuri’s waist tightly, and he moans softly into his neck.

Slowly, with patience and consideration, the world finds its way back into their consciousness.

Yuuri feels his heart beat incredibly fast, can feel Victor’s, too, who lies on top of him and breathes heavily. Their legs are entangled, their bodies connected, their breaths hot on each other’s skin. There is a burning sitting deep in Yuuri’s bones, a sweet, addictive burning that tells him to do all of this again, to chase the thrill of mating once more. But at the same time, he is tired, exhausted from so much more than just this.

It feels wonderful.

After a while, Victor removes himself from him, just enough to lay down comfortably beside Yuuri and pull him against his chest. Yuuri is grateful for it, as he is sure he would not be able to look his husband in the eye just now, not after what they have just done, not after the sounds they have made together.

“How are you feeling?” Victor whispers into his hair. “Are you well?”

Yuuri nods. “I feel wonderful,” he whispers back and kisses Victor’s clavicle.

Victor’s arms hold him even tighter now. “As it should be,” he replies quietly and nuzzles his hair.

He falls asleep soon after that, but Yuuri remains awake for a little longer. He can still hear the singing, the music, the chatting and the laughter from their clans, celebrating their union. They have not even bid them goodnight before retreating to their tent, Yuuri realises, but perhaps it has been best that way.

They have set their own pace.

His hand falls down to his belly, soft as always – but perhaps, also a little rounded, if Yuuri is not imagining things. At the thought of why it is so, he cannot help but begin to smile, and he squeezes his eyes shut as realisation hits him. No longer is he a child of his parents, but a person in his own right. Someone with a mate. A mate that is gentle, kind, and incredibly affectionate with him, and who treats him well.

Yuuri knows that he is exceptionally lucky.

He falls asleep, curled up at Victor’s side, and in his heart blossoms a feeling that he does not yet understand.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: panic attack

The facts are these:

Yuuri likes his husband very much.

It goes well beyond the things he has been told to expect – well beyond what he has ever hoped for himself. To have a good husband, yes, someone who was kind and attentive, someone who treated him with respect and with dignity. Someone he could laugh with; someone he did not despise touching. All of these things Yuuri has hoped for, and he has gotten them all. Victor is all of these things and so much more, and all of his qualities make Yuuri not only like his husband in what is considered the ‘appropriate’ way for newlyweds. His affection for Victor, he has realised very soon, goes much deeper than that.

Victor, of course, has contributed to that in the way he treats him, in the way he talks to him. Yes, even in the way he has said goodbye to Yuuri’s parents and has thanked them for everything, as if they had been making him the greatest of gifts. His parents’ judgement, Yuuri thinks very often these days, has been proven to be right. Victor is good for him. Victor is right for him.

The nomads seem to think so, too. All of them have welcomed Yuuri warmly, seem to have accepted him as one of their own already, even if he is an outsider and does not know their customs nor their native language. Around him, they all adjust their way of speaking for his sake to make him feel welcome and at home, and Yuuri is very much grateful for it. A few words of their language he has already learnt, such as _please_ and _thank you_ , but it will certainly take him many years to master it completely.

But there is a lifetime ahead of him.

They have been travelling for quite some time now, and the lifestyle of the nomads has already proven to be a drastic change to Yuuri. Not only does it mean to be away from everything and everyone he knows – they will regularly return to the riverlands, Victor has promised him – but it also means to sit on the back of a horse all day long. And although Yuuri adores the horse that Victor has gifted him, he is not used to riding for many hours at a time. Soon enough, he feels his back and bottom hurt, but he clenches his teeth and endures it until they take the next break.

It goes on like this for a few days until he can no longer bear it.

Victor always rides at the front of the train, Yuuri in the middle, amongst people of all ages to get to know them better and to hear them speak in their native tongue. Once there is enough space, Yuuri brings his horse to a halt and slips off, determined to walk instead of enduring the pain any longer. He sighs as he can finally stretch, and takes the reins of the horse into his hand to hold onto her. The other nomads give him curious looks, but no one asks him why he is walking all of a sudden – perhaps lacking the vocabulary to do so in Yuuri’s language. They all pass by him, their horses naturally faster than him, but Yuuri does not mind walking at the back of the group as long as it means to be not in pain. He tries his best, of course, to keep up with them, but by foot, you can only go so fast.

All of a sudden, a horse appears at his side, its rider a tall, burly man with a beard and a deep frown on his face that speaks of his irritation as he looks down at Yuuri, who involuntarily winces. The man’s horse is huge, much bigger than his own mare, who seems equally intimidated by their sudden presence. The man snaps at him, the words that come out of his mouth harsh and foreign, impossible for Yuuri to understand.

“I don’t—” He says, but the man gestures at the group ahead and speaks louder, as if that would help Yuuri to understand. By now, they are almost at the very end of the train, and Yuuri begins to slightly panic. But just as the man begins to bark at him again, he hears the hooves of another horse approaching and a horse just as tall, just as intimidating as the other, moves right between Yuuri and the man, and on its back sits the _hokin_.

Victor shouts at the other man, a shout that shakes Yuuri to the core, and whatever it is that he has said to him, it has effectively brought the entire group to a stop. The other man responds just as angrily, and Yuuri watches in stunned silence as Victor, who is loving and gentle with him at all times, who never raises his voice at him and who always speaks to him so sweetly, leans forward and practically growls at the other man. This time, however, in a language that Yuuri understands.

“Let me make this very clear,” he hisses. “If the _hokin-shi_ wishes to walk, then he will walk. If the _hokin-shi_ wishes to bring the entire train to a stop so he can rest, then he will rest. If the _hokin-shi_ tells you to get off your horse and dance, you will do so with greatest joy. Have I made myself clear?”

Even if Yuuri had wanted to say something, he would not have been able to find the words. A shiver runs down his spine as Victor defends him from the other man’s accusations, whatever they might have been.

For a moment, the other man glares at Victor, almost as if he were internally debating whether to pick up a fight or not. And then, he bows his head, albeit unwillingly, to both Victor and Yuuri, and rides away from them. Yuuri looks after him for a moment, clutching the reins of his horse tightly as Victor slips down from his own horse and approaches him.

“Yuuri, what is it?” He asks softly, his voice gone back to its usual gentleness, and he is once again the man that Yuuri likes so much that it hurts. Victor reaches out to take the hand that holds the mare’s reins, the other coming up to cup Yuuri’s cheek, pulling him a little closer to kiss his forehead. “Why are you walking?” He asks.

Yuuri feels the heat rise to his cheeks in his embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, “but I couldn’t sit any longer. My… my back and my bottom hurt and I’m just not used to riding for such a long time every day.” It sounds even more ridiculous now that he has said it out loud, right to the leader of the nomads, the very people who learn to ride before they can even walk. “I’m sorry.”

Victor lets go of his cheek and takes his hand instead. He looks just as confident as ever, his eyes sparkling in utter delight simply because he is in Yuuri’s company. “Shall we walk a bit together, then?”

Yuuri blinks.

“Come,” Victor says and squeezes his hand. “Let us walk a bit together.”

He takes the reins of both of their horses into his left hand and holds Yuuri’s with his right one, their fingers finding together so naturally as if it had always been meant to be this way.

“Are you sure this is alright?” Yuuri whispers.

Victor calls something at the others, who then continue with their journey, albeit much slower than before so that the _hokin_ and his mate will not fall behind.

“I should not have expected you to travel at our pace right away,” Victor says then and meets Yuuri’s gaze. “We should have adjusted to you.”

“N-No, please,” Yuuri says immediately and blushes even more. “It makes no sense for so many people to slow down just because I lack the resilience.”

“We slow down all the time for all sorts of people and reasons,” Victor says. “What do you think we do when someone is having a baby? If someone falls seriously ill? We care for one another.”

“But this man—”

“Fyodor still has many things to learn,” Victor says firmly, and in a tone of voice that settles the matter and gives little power to the opinion of the man. “You are the _hokin-shi_. You stand above him. He will respect that.”

Yuuri remains quiet after that, not sure what to say. Whatever the title he now has entails, it all feels very strange to him. Surely, it cannot be good if one member of the tribe cannot keep up, especially when it is him. After all, he is Victor’s mate.

“Yuuri?”

Victor has stopped walking, and Yuuri stops, too, turning to meet his husband’s gaze. Victor steps forward, grasps his chin, and kisses him on the lips in the very way he kisses him whenever they are alone, and away from prying eyes. But now, they are with others, in broad daylight, but Victor does not seem to care. The kiss is sweet and tender, and even if it lasts for a second only, it knocks the breath out of Yuuri’s lungs. Victor’s thumb brushes over his lips as he pulls away, and he looks at Yuuri with an expression that Yuuri finds impossible to describe.

“You are my _hokin-shi_ ,” he says softly, “never forget that.”

All Yuuri can do is nod.

They take a break a little earlier that day, on a meadow near a little stream where they refill the water bottles and let their horses drink. As they are about to depart again, Victor takes Yuuri to his own horse this time, ties the young mare to his saddle, wraps up a fur for Yuuri to sit on, and then places him upon it before mounting the horse himself. That way, Yuuri sits more comfortably, and has someone to lean against. A few women giggle at the sight, and Yuuri blushes, but he is happy to be this close to Victor.

That night, he curls up close at Victor’s side, and forgets about the ache in his back, and about the drama of the day. Victor kisses him, whispers into his ear, and they fall asleep.

So far, so good.

However, as wonderful as it all might seem, there is one thing that worries Yuuri greatly, and it upsets him more and more with every day that passes: For despite Victor’s affectionate words, gestures, and behaviour, despite his gentleness and his loving nature that he shows to Yuuri whenever they have a moment to themselves, he has not touched him again the way mates do.

Yuuri does not know why.

It makes absolutely no sense, and yet, it is so. Their wedding night has been nothing but spectacular, and Yuuri blushes still whenever he thinks of it. He can still feel Victor’s hands on his naked skin, his lips on his throat, his breath hot against his skin, just as he can still hear Victor’s moans. All of it immediately brings back the sweet warmth deep in his belly, and in moments like these, he wants nothing more but to retreat with Victor to their tent and repeat it all over.

But this is not what he is meant to do. That he has been told many, many times before getting married. It is up to his mate, up to his husband, to decide when and where a mating will take place, and to walk up to him and demand it would mean to appear greedy or even very lustful.

And so, he remains in the dark about Victor’s reasoning.

Yuuri has a few theories.

His first theory is that the nomads do it only once a month, and then wait to see if they were, well, successful. It seems to be the most plausible theory at first, and Yuuri gives it a try, waiting patiently for his monthly blood to come or to stay away – and of course, he hopes very much for the latter. What fortune it would be, indeed, to have Victor’s child right away.

However, he knows that he isn’t with child the moment he feels his stomach cramp and something warm and familiar between his legs. Panicking, and not knowing how to deal with it while sitting on a horse, he reaches out to tug his husband’s sleeve, who rides beside him: “Victor,” he whispers. “Victor!”

The _hokin_ turns his head, looking at him attentively as ever. “What is it?”

“I’m…” Yuuri swallows thickly. “My… I’m… There’s…” He places his other hand on his belly and lowers his voice even further. “It’s an emergency.”

Yuuri can only pray to the Heavens that Victor will understand what he means without him having to say it out loud in front of everyone. Victor looks at him for a painfully long moment before realisation appears on his face. “Oh.”

Yuuri nods vehemently and blushes as deeply as never before. “I have to—”

“Of course,” Victor says and, much to Yuuri’s embarrassment, calls out to the whole group to come to a halt. Then, he slides from his horse, pulls Yuuri down from his own before he can even protest, and swiftly carries him away from the road, across the fields, towards the small forest.

“What are you doing?” Yuuri breathes in confusion, looking back at the nomads over Victor’s shoulder.

“You surely do not want to take care of it in front of everyone,” Victor says. “Do you have everything you need?”

“I…” Yuuri glances at his horse that stands abandoned next to Victor’s and now out of reach. “I have everything in my leather bag.”

Victor carefully puts him down by the first tree that they reach. Then, he whistles through his fingers, and Yuuri’s mare starts trotting towards them as carefree as ever.

Yuuri blinks in surprise.

“I told you,” Victor says, not without a hint of a proud smile on his face, “I caught and tamed her myself. Trained her, too.”

He reaches out as she comes closer, taking her reins and patting her neck in approval. “Good girl,” he hums and then takes the leather bag from the saddle and gives it to Yuuri. “I’ll wait on the on the other side of the tree,” he says. “Don’t worry, I won’t risk a glance.”

“I never thought you would,” Yuuri replies with burning cheeks. “I… I also need some water to—”

Victor hands him his own water bottle without question. “We can refill it later.” He gives Yuuri a reassuring smile, and with that, he takes the reins and walks away from the tree to give Yuuri his privacy, humming a pleasant tune to himself.

Yuuri quickly takes care of the issue, glad that there is much less of a mess than he has expected, but finds his hands stained nonetheless once he has put everything into place. He pours some water over his hands to get rid of both the colour and the metallic scent, wondering if it could possibly distract the horses. Once he is done, he wipes his wet hands on his clothes and takes a few deep breaths, pressing a hand against his cramping stomach. His herbs are all safely tucked away in another bag, and he would have to brew a tea from them first. For that they don’t have time at the moment.

He will have to endure it until they set up their tents for the night.

Victor waits for him on the other side of the tree, scratching Yuuri’s horse behind the ear affectionately as he still hums to himself with all the patience in the world. Up the hill, the nomads are still waiting, and Yuuri is certain they know why they have been forced to take a break, and he hopes they won’t be angry with him for it.

“Done?” Victor asks as he looks up.

Yuuri nods and bites his lip. “I didn’t mean to cause such a disruption.”

Victor shakes his head. “An emergency is an emergency. Don’t worry about it.”

Yuuri lets out a little sigh and takes his horse’s reins again, rubbing her nose gently. Nonetheless, only because Victor is understanding, it does not mean that the others will understand too. “Let us… let us go back.”

Victor nods and begins to walk back at Yuuri’s side, his hand immediately coming to rest on the small of Yuuri’s back. He often does that, simply touching Yuuri because he likes to, and Yuuri finds it very reassuring. Especially now, even if he is still a little embarrassed.

“And besides,” Victor adds to what he has said before, “your blood is nothing to be ashamed of. No need to hide it.”

“I’m not ashamed!” Yuuri blurts out slightly indignantly, and really, he is not. It has been part of him ever since, and he is not embarrassed by who and what he is. “I just don’t want to make a big thing of it. And… I was not sure if your people… speak of it. My mother said that most do not want anything to do with it.”

Victor huffs. “Weaklings,” he mutters under his breath. “But yes. I have heard of this insufferable behaviour of some people. Mostly those who desperately want sons but are unable to deal with what it entails.” He gives Yuuri’s waist a gentle squeeze. “You have a gift, Yuuri. You and all other life givers. No part of that gift is shameful.”

Yuuri says nothing to that.

No one bats an eye as they finally reach the group again and their journey can continue, but Yuuri still feels uneasy. This time, however, he sits on Victor’s horse, with Victor sitting right behind him and giving him something to lean against. One of the women nudges him with her elbow, and holds out a small pouch with leaves inside. Victor explains to him that it is medicine to chew, and that it numbs pain. The medicine is foreign to Yuuri, but he thanks the woman and tries it, finding that it does indeed help.

That, and Victor’s hand on his belly, and his occasional kisses to his temple.

At night, he brews himself some tea and goes to bed early. Victor joins him soon, holding him close as always, humming to him as he falls asleep.

He bleeds for four days.

But even then, Victor does not touch him again, not even after Yuuri loudly exclaims – within the privacy of their tent – that he is glad that it is finally over. Victor smiles at him and kisses him, and tells him how glad he is that Yuuri is feeling better again.

But in their bed, still nothing happens, except for the kisses that they share. Victor keeps his hands to himself, does not even attempt to seduce him. Not even as almost two weeks pass and Yuuri reaches what is considered the peak of fertility.

Yuuri’s first theory, therefore, proves to be false.

*-*-*-*-*-*

His second theory is a much simpler one: perhaps, Yuuri thinks one day, Victor does not want any children yet. Perhaps he does not even like children.

Victor has never said so out loud, but it could be a real possibility. After all, they are still young – although Victor is considerably older than Yuuri by at least ten years, perhaps even more – and still have time. Yuuri also remembers Victor remarking one day what a relief it is to be able to sleep in without little ones jumping up and down on them. It is something a lot of people say, and does not necessarily speak of an aversion towards children from Victor’s side, but one can never know. Yuuri does not dare to ask.

They are at a market, in what must be the busiest town that Yuuri has ever seen. There are not many places like this in the riverlands, where most people still have simple settlements, and the only markets that are of importance take place once a year. Here, however, there seems to be a market every single day, with traders from all sorts of places offering their goods. Yuuri hardly knows where to look first or where to look next – there is so much to see, so much to hear, so much to explore that it overwhelms him. But Victor is at his side, and Victor, it seems, is a man with a mission that day.

He has his arm firmly around Yuuri’s waist as they make their way through the crowd. There is determination in Victor’s step, he knows where he is going, and Yuuri only has to follow him. Nonetheless, he is curious.

“Where are you taking me?” He asks him, secretly hoping that his husband is taking him to one of the tables where they sell wonderfully smelling food that he has never seen before.

“We will soon reach a colder area, and for that, you need to be appropriately dressed,” Victor tells him and holds him a little closer as a bunch of youths races past them, shrieking in laughter. “I would not be able to live with myself if you were to catch a cold.”

“But I already have something warm to wear,” Yuuri reminds him. “What about the fur you gave me on our wedding day?”

Victor chuckles and presses a quick kiss to his temple. “That fur is far too precious and too delicate to wear every day,” he says. “But I will buy you something today in which you will look beautiful and stay warm. Believe me, you will need it. To stay warm, I mean,” he adds with a smile. “You are beautiful already.”

“Victor…” Yuuri murmurs with a blush, but leans a little closer to him. He cannot deny that he enjoys Victor’s affection, his gentleness that he always shows. It tells him that, even if Victor does not touch him at night, even if he does not know why, there must be something about him that Victor likes.

On the other side of the market, they appear to find what Victor has been looking for. A large, wooden table with many furs of different animals and different colours awaits them there, the ware praised and sold by a middle-aged man with a bushy beard and friendly eyes. At Victor’s sight, the man lets out a shout in Victor’s language and raises his hands in greeting, even comes out from behind the table to welcome them. Victor laughs and greets the man in equally jovial fashion, patting his shoulder. Then, the man’s gaze falls on Yuuri, and his eyes sparkle as he appears to ask Victor a question. Victor squeezes Yuuri’s hip as he replies, and all Yuuri can understand is the word _hokin-shi_. At that, the other man’s eyes widen for a moment before he nods warmly and says something to Yuuri directly, who can only look at Victor for help.

His husband, much to his surprise, has a pink colour on his cheeks.

“Leonid says we look so natural together,” Victor says softly. “And that he is happy to see me wed.”

Yuuri chuckles and looks at Leonid, thanking him in Victor’s language – because that is something he definitely knows how to say. Leonid laughs and then gestures at his table, picking up a beautiful brown fur and holding it up for them to touch.

“What do you think, Yuuri?” Victor asks and takes the fur out of Leonid’s hands, putting it around Yuuri’s shoulders. “I think it would look good with what you already have. And it is of the best quality. Leonid only sells what he has hunted himself.”

“It’s very soft,” Yuuri says and reaches up to run his hands over the fur. “But it’s a bit too big.”

Leonid has noticed that, too, for he gestures at Yuuri’s shoulder as he speaks again and picks up another fur, of a deeper brown this time and even softer than the last. This one fits much better, and the way it has been cut makes it easy to attach strings to it to make a proper cloak of it.

“I think we’ll take this one, hm?” Victor says. “What do you think?”

“I like it,” Yuuri says and pulls the fur a bit tighter around himself. “But it surely is very expensive…”

“Do not worry,” Victor says and pats Leonid’s shoulder. “He’ll make us a good price. Eh, Leonid?” He repeats what he has said in their own language. Leonid jokingly protests, silver coins are traded in exchange for the fur, and the deal is sealed.

“There,” Victor says and arranges the fur properly around Yuuri’s shoulders, pulling him a little closer. “Just like I thought. A sight to behold.”

“Victor,” Yuuri whispers in embarrassment before he remembers that Leonid can most likely not understand them. The man is busy with other customers now anyway, and not paying attention to them, but Yuuri is still not used to receiving Victor’s affection in front of strangers. It is one thing to be gently touched and briefly kissed by him in front of the nomads, but it is an entirely different matter in public.

Victor, however, does not seem to care, and he gently grasps Yuuri’s chin as he presses a tender, loving kiss to Yuuri’s lips. Yuuri’s breath hitches in his throat, his eyes wide in surprise for a moment before he gives in and leans into the kiss his husband bestows on him. They only ever kiss like this in private, in the sanctuary of their tent, when no one else watches. To be kissed by Victor like this in public seems utterly scandalous, but Yuuri cannot find it in himself to care much. Not when Victor reassures him of his affection like this.

“You know, Yuuri,” Victor says softly as they part again, “I do like looking at you. Very much.”

Yuuri opens his mouth to reply as a bunch of children races past them, screaming and laughing, in their hands wooden swords as they re-enact a fierce battle and chase after each other. They are as carefree as only children can be, Yuuri thinks, ignoring what is around them entirely as they go deeper and deeper into the world of their imagination.

“I think we are in the way,” Victor chuckles and wraps his arm around Yuuri’s waist. “Come, let us go back.”

Together, and with a new fur in their possession, they walk back across the market place to the road that leads out to the fields where they have set up their tents. They are not staying for long, so they have not set up their full camp, and the tents are set up for sleeping only. Soon, however, Victor has told Yuuri, they will reach their destination in the mountain lands, where they will stay for a while. It is where Victor was born, and whenever Victor speaks of it, his eyes shine. It must be beautiful there, Yuuri is sure of it, and he cannot wait to see it.

At the same time, Yuuri cannot believe how far away from home he already is. They have been travelling for weeks, and Yuuri does not even know where exactly they are. He has no other choice but to trust Victor.

Doing so is surprisingly easy.

“I’ll ask Mila to make a proper cloak out of the fur,” Victor says as they reach the camp, but Yuuri shakes his head.

“I can do it,” he says and pulls the fur from his shoulders. “I also still need to fix your shift.”

“What is wrong with it?”

“You tore it at the hem when you undressed last night,” Yuuri reminds him with a chuckle. “I’ll go and fix it and add some threads to this fur.” He wraps it up in his arms and smiles up at his husband. “Thank you again.”

“No need to thank me,” Victor says and then presses a quick kiss to Yuuri’s forehead. “I have some things to discuss with Ivan and Georgi. I’ll see you later?”

“I’ll be right here,” Yuuri says and gestures at the small fire outside their tent.

Victor kisses him again before he walks away and leaves Yuuri to his business. Soon enough, a few others join Yuuri by the fire, each of them with their own work. There are always shirts to mend, trousers to fix, shoes to repair, and so much more, so that Yuuri really cannot complain about a lack of company. It is also the best way of learning the language, as all of them are eager to help. Especially Mila, one of Victor’s distant cousins, always takes her time to teach him new words and sentences. The structure is not too difficult, but the pronunciation is rather different and Yuuri often finds himself rather frustrated. But he has time, he reminds himself every day, and he is allowed to make mistakes.

“Your husband is looking very dashing today,” Mila says to the young man sitting to Yuuri’s right and nods at another man who stands by Victor’s side and talks animatedly with the hokin and a few others.

“Oh, I know,” the young man whose name Yuuri has forgotten at the moment sighs. “Yours too, Yuuri,” he says with a small smile. “I was always jealous of Victor’s hair.”

Victor’s hair is indeed gorgeous, and Yuuri often admires it. Yes, he considers himself lucky that he even gets to touch it. Right now, it shines beautifully in the light of the slowly setting sun, making Victor look even more like a divine being. Almost like a spirit.

Just like the night Yuuri watched him from afar.

As the men talk, a group of children run up to them, in their hands wooden swords, just like the ones the children at the market have had. “Oh look at that,” Mila chuckles. “Here it comes.”

“Oh! Did your parents buy you some swords at the market?” Victor laughs at the children and playfully raises his hands in defence. “Oh no! How could I possibly win against so many assassins at once? Help! Someone help!”

The children scream in delight as they raise their wooden swords and pretend to attack the _hokin_ , who grabs a stick from the ground and uses it as a poor excuse of a sword to defend himself as best as he can without overwhelming the little ones.

“Ahh!! I am slain!” Victor cries as he dramatically falls to his knees after a wooden sword has “cut” into his legs. He reaches out with one hand, his eyes searching and finding his mate. “Yuuri! You must avenge me!” He cries with a grin.

Mila chuckles beside Yuuri. “He’s such an idiot. Especially when it comes to children. Always ready to make a fool of himself for their entertainment.”

Yuuri looks at her, his heart clenching in his chest. “So he likes children?” He asks.

Mila raises her eyebrow. “Victor loves children,” she says as if it were the most obvious thing. “If he is already like that with children of others, then I wonder what he’ll be like with children of his own. I know he cannot wait to have some.”

Just like that, Yuuri’s second theory vanishes into thin air.

Victor likes children.

Wants them, even.

Yuuri takes a deep breath and sets his needlework aside before he gets up to ‘save’ his husband from his attackers, pulling him up from the ground by the hand.

“Ah! My saviour,” Victor chuckles and kisses his temple. “Sorry, children, those are the rules of combat,” he tells the boys and girls and reaches out to ruffle one girl’s hair. “Off you go, I’m sure it’s almost dinnertime.”

The children groan but do as they are told, and Yuuri watches them leave with a strange feeling in his chest.

“Aren’t they sweet?” Victor asks him and puts an arm around his shoulders.

“They are,” Yuuri agrees quietly.

Their own, he thinks as his heart aches, would be just as sweet.

*-*-*-*-*-*

There are a few more possible explanations, now that Yuuri thinks about it, and the thoughts keep flooding his mind in the most cruel way.

He lies awake, hears the light rain pattering down on their tent, and cannot stop the thoughts from coming. Beside him, Victor snores peacefully, lying on his back with an arm resting above his head. Victor, it seems, never has any trouble sleeping. He never has any trouble with anything. Everything comes naturally to him.

Victor is truly to be envied.

Whenever Yuuri’s head feels too full, whenever he feels overwhelmed, he is deprived of sleep, deprived of any rest until he figures out what to do next. But the situation he is in now seems too difficult, too complicated, and there really is no solution to find if he does not even know what to define as the problem, as the explanation.

Somewhere, their marriage must have taken a wrong turn; a turn that leaves their bed cold and empty, a turn that makes Yuuri question everything. Their marriage is missing something, something of great importance, and yet, Yuuri cannot figure out why that is. Was having Victor’s children not the very reason why he got married to him? Was this not the very reason for marriage in the first place? To leave home and to start a family of one’s own, yes, that is what everyone is taught, what everyone sees, what everyone expects. Did Victor not imply on the night of their wedding that he was certain of the gifts that Yuuri would soon give him? If that had not meant children, then what else?

Why had things changed?

To the rest of the world, they must look a happy couple. And indeed, Yuuri is happy to be with Victor, enjoys being with him, and he likes him so much that it hurts sometimes. There is always a smile, a touch, a kiss waiting for him. Victor gives all of it to him gladly.

Everything he gives to him, except for what should happen between mates.

There must be a reason. Yuuri has a few theories left, and each of them is worse than the one before, and Yuuri hardly dares to face them. But one of them must be the reason why Victor does not touch him the way mates do.

He already knows that there is no such thing amongst the nomads like enjoying each other only once a month. He also knows that Victor loves children. Wants them, even.

But perhaps, Yuuri thinks and swallows thickly as the tears begin to burn in his eyes, Victor has changed his mind and does not want any children with him. Perhaps because he already has children, somewhere else, given to him by someone he hasn’t told Yuuri about. Or because he does not enjoy being with him in that way, does not want to have Yuuri again. Or because he does not like Yuuri as much as he thought. Because Yuuri is not enough. Because someone else already gave him what he needs. Because Yuuri is not that important to him.

Yuuri closes his eyes as the tears begin to roll down his cheeks. One of these reasons must be it, or perhaps it is all of them. How could this, no, how could he ever be enough for someone like Victor?

None of his thoughts are coherent, and hardly any of them make sense, he knows that. But in moments like this, when his mind overwhelms him, when evil spirits torment him, he cannot stop them from coming.

He rolls over to his side, his back to Victor, and buries his face in the fur beneath him to hide the sobs that do not stop coming. It must be entirely his fault, that he is certain of, and Victor is only too kind to tell him. Victor may perhaps like him, or pretend to like him, but more? No, there cannot be more.

Beside him, Victor shifts and rolls over, and Yuuri winces as Victor puts his arm around him in his sleep. A habit only, and one that hurts even more so now, when Yuuri knows that it means probably little. Another sob escapes him and he squeezes his eyes shut.

Behind him, Victor stirs again, and Yuuri feels his breath on his neck. “Yuuri?”

Yuuri swallows thickly and pretends to sleep, knowing very well what a poor excuse of an act he is putting on with his shoulders shaking and his lips pressed together.

“Hey…” Victor whispers, fully awake now as he sits up a little and leans over Yuuri as best as he can from this position. “Yuuri, my love. What is it?”

Yuuri shakes his head and buries his face deeper in the furs they sleep on, unaware of how loud his sobs are now. He cannot fool Victor know, Victor knows he is awake, and Victor won’t rest until he has told him what is wrong with him.

“Are you in pain?” Victor asks him, louder this time, and he sounds genuinely alarmed as he gently shakes him. “Yuuri, please talk to me. I’m worried.”

Yuuri’s breath hitches in his throat at those words, and he feels the shame burning in his face and in his heart. To come to a sensible, coherent thought is impossible in that moment, and his mind spins with all sorts of accusations, all of them directed at himself. He is the one at fault, he is the one to blame for all this, he is the reason why their marriage is not working the way it should. It is his fault, all of it is Yuuri’s fault, and Victor merely endures him, has probably realised that he has made a mistake in marrying him the night he took him to his tent. Victor must secretly despise him so much.

“Yuuri, I’m scared,” Victor says then, and his voice changes to something Yuuri has never heard before. The sound of it, the depth of it breaks his heart, stabs him again and again.

 _You are doing this to him_ , the spirits in his mind tell him.

He cannot tell him the truth.

“I’m homesick,” he whispers instead, so quietly that he is sure that Victor cannot hear him, not with the rain pattering down on the tent.

Victor hears him, hears the lie and believes it.

Both of his arms come around Yuuri now, embracing him in his warmth, in his affection of which Yuuri knows that it cannot possibly be true, that he cannot possibly deserve it.

But Victor is there.

And for some reason, he does not leave.

“I know that this is not the riverlands,” Victor says softly into his ear, and his voice cracks slightly as he speaks. “I know that… I’m not a substitute for your mother, your father, and your sister. But I love you so, Yuuri, I love and admire and adore you so that all I want is to give you the home that you deserve. A home of our own, a home that comes with us wherever we may go, a place where you are save, and loved, and cherished by me.” Victor pauses, and Yuuri shakes like a leaf in his arms, trembles as if he had been cast out into the cold. “I know I’m not perfect, Yuuri,” Victor whispers then and kisses his shoulder, “but I want to try. Please, Yuuri, please let me try. That would be enough.”

Yuuri is too far gone to respond, and Victor’s words barely reach him.

*-*-*-*-*-*

The next morning, he is able to think clearer.

The storm in Yuuri’s mind has calmed significantly, allowing him to think properly, to see, to hear, to feel without restraints, and to put his thoughts into order.

Victor has woken him that morning, has woken him with gentle kisses to his eyelids, has greeted him with a warm smile and a tender hand in Yuuri’s hair. Like a kind spirit, Yuuri had thought sleepily for a moment, but also so incredibly human at the same time. Sitting on the floor by their bed, he has been waiting patiently, has not said a single word that was not necessary. Victor has waited for him, as given him all the time in the world. His hand, his gentle, tender hand, has caressed Yuuri’s cheek as Victor has pressed their foreheads together and has whispered to him, sweet nothings in both languages.

Yuuri is glad that when the terrors grip him at night, he is hardly ever able to speak. He does not even want to imagine what he would have said to Victor.

How much he would have hurt the man that, for some reason, has such genuine affection in his heart for him. Even if their marriage is so flawed.

Victor has prepared a bath for him, in one of the few tubs that the nomads carry with them. It is not big, just enough for one person to sit in. Yuuri cannot stretch out his legs completely in the hot water, but it covers him enough to keep in comfortably warm. It must have taken hours to prepare this bath, with their tent set up only to provide the bare minimum needed. Victor must have gotten up early for it all, collecting several buckets of water from the well, heating the water up, pouring it into the tub, all of it without waking Yuuri.

Now, Victor sits behind him, and in his hand, a comb with which he gently detangles Yuuri’s hair.

The gesture alone is incredibly intimate, and a quiet voice in Yuuri’s mind tells him that he does not deserve such kindness.

The sensible part of Yuuri, however, knows that if Victor did not like him, he would not do this for him.

The sensible part of Yuuri also knows that most likely, none of the theories, none of the thoughts that have tormented him last night are true. That perhaps, there is a perfectly fine reason why Victor does not touch him, why their marriage lacks something very essential. It also tells him that as Victor’s mate, it is not up to him to confront him.

This is not what a good mate does.

Victor has his reasons.

Yuuri has to respect them.

There is more to a marriage.

That has to be enough.

“Mila brought porridge for you, if you would like some,” Victor says softly as he runs his fingers through Yuuri’s hair alongside the comb.

Yuuri pulls his knees up to his chest. Did Victor tell her of the events of the previous night?

“I told her you are not feeling well,” Victor adds quietly, as if he had been reading his thoughts. “Just that. What happens between us stays between us.”

Yuuri nods a little, focuses on the feeling of Victor’s hand in his hair. Of course, Victor would not go around and tell everyone of his misery. Victor is not like that. Victor would never be like that.

He’s too good for him.

Eventually, Victor puts the comb aside and grabs a blanket, putting it around Yuuri’s shoulders so he can rise from the bath without being entirely uncovered. Even in that regard, Victor is respectful, although he has seen Yuuri naked before. Although it would be his right to see him like this.

He is far too good for him.

While Yuuri dresses, Victor busies himself with heating up the porridge and putting a large portion into a bowl. As Yuuri returns to the fire, Victor gives it to him, and Yuuri sees that he has ornamented the simple dish with some pomegranate seeds. Yuuri’s favourite fruit.

He murmurs a quiet thank you and begins to eat, small spoonfuls, one at a time. Victor is eating, too, but he sets his bowl aside after a few minutes already and clasps his hands on his lap. Like this, he looks very little like the strong leader that he is to the world, and much more like the man that knelt before Yuuri on the night of their wedding and told him to not be afraid. To trust him.

It feels as if Victor is going to ask something similar of him now.

“We’re heading further north today,” Victor says, “and we should reach the mountain lands in a few days before the rains begin. But before we pack up, I would like to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me.”

Yuuri frowns a little, his stomach clenching painfully as Victor regards him thoughtfully, but there is also something else in his gaze. Something that can only be described as some sort of ache or pain. But then, Victor looks away, looks down at his own lap as if to try and gather the courage for what he wishes to say next. Yuuri holds his breath.

“Is there someone else?”

A cold shiver runs down his spine as Victor meets his gaze again, as he sees the pain, the despair and the fear in his husband’s eyes.

“Victor, w-why—”

“Please, Yuuri,” Victor interrupts him, his calm demeanour only a façade. “Please, just… just answer the question.”

Yuuri swallows thickly, a thousand thoughts overwhelming him at once. “There is no one else, Victor,” he whispers. “I would never…”

The relief on Victor’s face is instant, but just as quickly as it has come, it disappears again and is instead replaced with what could only be named as shame. Victor’s head hangs low, and he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry, I… I had this silly thought that you might be homesick because there was someone waiting for you there who already owned your heart.”

His words, although not intended to be that way, are like daggers to Yuuri’s heart.

“There never was,” Yuuri murmurs and looks down, holding the bowl of porridge tightly in his hands. “And there never will be anyone else.”

He does not look up, but he can hear Victor come closer and kneel down by his side. His hand comes up to grasp Yuuri’s chin, the way he always does when he wants to kiss him on the lips. But this time, Victor merely lifts Yuuri’s chin slightly to look him in the eye, and Yuuri knows that Victor is not asking for anything at all.

“Your thoughts are your own, Yuuri,” he says quietly, “but if there ever is anything that pains you, please know that you can share it with me. You do not have to shoulder any burden on your own.”

He kisses his forehead, the gesture even more intimate than a kiss to the lips, and Yuuri wants to cry.

And then, Victor leaves, as if he knew that in moments like these, it is best to give Yuuri some time alone.

Of course he knows.

He is far too good for him, Yuuri thinks again as he rubs his eyes. He wishes that he were braver, that he had the courage to just tell Victor what it is that upsets him. But it would mean to learn either a horrible truth, concealed by a lie told by Victor to not hurt him, or to be told something that is yet unimaginable to Yuuri.

Victor must have his reasons.

And Yuuri must accept them.

*-*-*-*-*-*

The mountain lands come closer and closer with every day that passes.

Travelling with the nomads is something Yuuri has gotten used to by now. Like them, he rises at dawn and rides until dusk, his horse beneath them and above them the endless horizon. He does not know where they are going, or how anyone could possibly remember the way. But this is Victor’s home, this is where Victor was born. This is the place he is so eager to show to Yuuri.

If that is still true, Yuuri cannot tell.

He does not ride by his side, but with Mila these days. Mila is good company, for she knows when Yuuri is in the mood to talk and when he just wants some quiet company by his side. Victor is always busy, always talking to someone, sorting things out, debating, arguing. It is his duty, of course, as the _hokin_ , but it also gives him and Yuuri very little time to themselves. The previous nights, they have hardly spoken either, as they have both fallen into bed exhausted and unable to form a coherent thought.

It does not help at all to soothe Yuuri’s nerves.

“Did something happen between you two?” Mila asks and guides her horse closer to Yuuri’s.

Yuuri shivers and pretends not to understand. “What do you mean?”

Mila gestures with her head at Victor, who rides ahead and speaks to some of his men. “I’ve seen him sad before, but… I don’t know. He seems off.”

Yuuri knows what she means, has known it since the morning that has followed his nightly terrors. There is something about Victor these days that is very hard to explain, and for an outsider, he probably does not appear any different. But to those who know him, it appears to be quite obvious that Victor is only putting on a brave face. That deep down, something is troubling him, is keeping him think.

“Maybe it is because we’re almost there,” Mila muses out loud. “The mountain lands are where he spent the first few years of his life, after all. Where his mother is buried. Now that I think about it, he always becomes a little gloomy when we head there…”

“Maybe, yes,” Yuuri says quietly and hopes that it is just that, because that means that Victor will surely have his spirits lifted again very soon. That this is not something serious. That this is not something that he has caused.

“No baby in sight?” Mila asks suddenly. “If you dropped that information on him, that would certainly cheer him up.”

Yuuri blushes. “N-No, there’s… there’s no baby in sight.”

“Ah, too bad,” Mila sighs and pouts a little. Then, however, her face lights up in an instant and she grabs Yuuri’s arm. “Yuuri, look!”

Yuuri turns his head to see what she means, and his eyes widen at the sight before him.

The mountains that have always looked so small and so far away seem so incredibly close now, so majestic that Yuuri is sure that this must be a creation of the gods and the spirits. The mountains are so high that they must reach into the Heavens, that the mountain tops cannot be anything else but the place where the worlds collide.

“Isn’t it breathtaking?” He hears Mila say. “The mountains always seem so small until you cross these lands and reach the valley.”

Said valley has appeared before them as well, at the very bottom of the mountains, surrounded by forests and divided by a river that opens up into a lake. Victor, Yuuri remembers then, has told him of the lake. It is right there, at the lake’s shore, where they will set up their tents.

Just in time for the rains.

The mood amongst the nomads changes significantly at the sight of the valley and they begin to sing, a beautiful song in the language that Yuuri still struggles to understand. Usually, Victor joins in whenever they sing, and lets Yuuri listen to the beautiful voice that he has. But today, he merely seems to hum along, and otherwise stays silent.

It takes until dusk for them to reach the shore of the lake, but once they are there, the relief amongst both people and horses is undeniably there. Immediately, they begin to set up their tents, properly this time, for a longer stay. Yuuri helps as best as he can, mostly keeping the children out of the way and the hands of their parents free. Victor is everywhere, it seems, helping wherever it is needed, carrying all sorts of things to their owners. Their own tent is set up in the centre of the camp again, bigger than all the others, with furs and carpets covering the floor. The men work quickly, and it is no wonder that their tent stands as one of the first, with the only thing left to do for Yuuri and Victor is to make it a home again. All the heavy things are taken over by Victor without question, and Yuuri is left to watch as his husband carries all sorts of things inside, all of their pots and pans, their weaponry, the blankets and furs, the small tables, the cushions, and all the other things that are theirs.

“Come,” Mila says and takes Yuuri’s hand. “Let’s leave the men to it. Come help me with the horses.”

Yuuri tears his eyes away from Victor and follows Mila back to the horses that graze peacefully right where they have left them. Along the shore of the lake, there are several trees that apparently just wait to offer themselves to the horses as a place of refuge, as a place where they will be not much bothered by the rain that is to come. Together with some others, they lead the horses there and remove the reins from their heads. Yuuri’s own mare neighs gently as he does so, nudging him affectionately as if to say thank you.

“She’s wonderful, isn’t she,” Mila says beside him, patting the neck of her own horse, which is much bigger and more like a nomad’s horse. “When Victor first caught her, I wondered what he saw in her. Perhaps it was destiny. A few months later, he found you. And now look at the two of you.”

She sighs softly. “I bet you’ll enjoy it here, Yuuri,” she says then and her eyes sparkle knowingly. “Every time we come here to sit out the rains, we’ll have a bunch of newborn babies nine months later on the dot. People hardly leave their tent when it rains so much. And what else is one to do?” She chuckles and reaches up into the tree to pick an apple and feeds it to her horse. “Whose turn is it at the moment anyway? Or have you lost count?”

Yuuri, who has reached up to pick an apple for his own horse as well, freezes.

Mila looks at him expectantly and then grins. “Ahh. I see, you lost count already! That’s what I like to hear.”

“What are you talking about?” Yuuri asks and lowers his hand again. “Whose turn of what?”

Mila raises an eyebrow. “Whose turn it is to initiate, of course,” she says as if it were obvious. “The courting game. First him, then you, then him again, and so forth. Or are you two not following that pattern?” She chuckles. “I wouldn’t be surprised!”

Yuuri feels as if he had just swallowed a large chunk of ice.

“I…” He turns his head, looks back at the tents in the distance, and begs the Heavens to let him get this right for at least once. “I have to go.”

“Wha—” Mila can barely open her mouth to respond but Yuuri is running already, running as fast as he can. His heart beats fast in his chest, realisation and horror washing over him all at once. If he is right, if he is finally right, then he is indeed the one to blame for all of this. If he is right, then Victor must have gone through hell, must have thought a thousand unspeakable things, must have been worried sick about everything.

He sees him the moment he reaches their tent, Victor stepping outside just now to get whatever it is that is still missing. But as he sees Yuuri running towards him, he freezes in his tracks.

“Yuuri—”

“Victor!” Yuuri cries and grabs him by the arms, pulling him back inside their tent. “Victor, I have to—I have to ask you—”

“Yuuri!” Victor grabs him by the shoulders the moment the flap of the tent falls shut and holds him upright, his eyes full of worry as Yuuri catches his breath. “Yuuri, breathe! What is it, my love? Did something happen? Are you hurt? Do you need—”

“Was it my turn?” Yuuri breathes and feels his knees going weak as he holds onto his husband. “Was it my turn all this time?”

“What on earth are you talking ab—”

“To initiate! Was it my turn to initiate all this time?!”

“To initiate what?” Victor asks in utter confusion before he falls very, very silent and realisation appears on his face. At first, mildly, before it becomes more and more visible on his face, and a deep blush appears on his usually pale cheeks. “O-Oh.”

Yuuri swallows thickly. “It was my turn, wasn’t it,” he says and feels the tears burning in his eyes. He lets go of Victor and buries his face in his hands. “No, no, no…”

“Yuuri…” Victor takes him by the arms and guides him to their newly set up fireplace, where he puts him down on one of the cushions. “Yuuri, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I didn’t know, I didn’t know!” Yuuri shakes his head again and again. “Victor, I swear I didn’t know—”

“Yuuri, please, look at me.” Victor takes his face into both of his hands, forcing Yuuri to meet his gaze. Yuuri’s heart is still beating rapidly, expecting to hear the words that he has always feared, that he is too stupid and not worthy to be here, that he should just pack up and leave. “You did not do anything wrong. Everything is okay. There is only you and me in here, yes? I am not angry. On the contrary.”

Yuuri hiccups as he tries to speak, the words barely coming over his lips. “B-But I didn’t—why didn’t you s-say something…”

“Yuuri, I thought… I thought you knew.” Victor bites his lower lip and now looks ashamed of himself, a look that Yuuri has seen on him only once before and that he never wanted to see again. But it is there, and it breaks his heart even more as he imagines how horrible Victor must have felt all this time.

“You must have thought I hated you,” he whispers and more tears roll down his cheeks, landing right on Victor’s skin. “You must have thought the most horrible things of me.”

“No, Yuuri, no,” Victor assures him and shakes his head before he kisses him, kisses him on the lips almost desperately. “I thought nothing of the sort. I thought you might need more time, or that you didn’t want to risk having children right away, or that you didn’t enjoy—”

Yuuri lets out a cry of both despair and frustration and buries his face in Victor’s shoulder, and knows that there, he will always be safe. Victor’s arms come around him, and they hold each other just like that for what seems to be an eternity. Outside their tent, life goes on, but they have no patience for it. None of it has a place in their tent, or between them, or in their hearts in that moment.

There is only them, and the sound of their heartbeats, and the grief over the nights that they have wasted in their ignorance.

“I thought you hated me,” Yuuri whispers in shame. “I thought you didn’t want me.”

“I could never hate you,” Victor whispers in return and presses a kiss to his hair. “And I have always wanted you. Day and night.”

Yuuri pulls away, just enough to look at him. “Then why didn’t you say something?” He asks weakly, his voice hoarse from crying.

“I didn’t want to push you,” Victor says, and Yuuri wants to cry at how too damn considerate his husband is once again. “It would not have been right of me to question your decision.” He sighs and closes his eyes for a long moment, as if to recollect himself. “Please… don’t tell me this is why you were crying at night.”

Yuuri says nothing, but it is enough of an answer.

“All of this is my fault,” Victor murmurs and pulls him against his chest again. “The idiot that I am. I should have told you right away. Oh, Yuuri…” His voice breaks and Yuuri knows, even though he cannot see him, that his husband must be crying. “Why didn’t you say something before?”

“I was told not to,” Yuuri whispers into his chest. “I was taught it would not be right.”

Victor lets out a joyless laugh and pulls back again, taking Yuuri’s face into both hands again. “Oh, Yuuri,” he says quietly and kisses him, “how could this not be right?”

Indeed, how could this not be right?

They stay like this for what feels like hours, holding each other and just breathing in each other’s scent, listening to the heartbeat of the other, sharing their warmth. Yuuri feels so much lighter now, freed from the burden of worrying, and he knows that Victor is relieved, too. That Victor loves him. That Victor wants him. In every possible way.

Someone knocks against the outer layer of their tent and calls Victor’s name, followed by some sort of request. Only then Yuuri remembers that they are still very much in the midst of setting up a camp, and that he has just stolen away the leader of the nomads who is still very much needed by others.

“You should go and help,” Yuuri says and nods at the flap of their tent. “I shouldn’t have dragged you away.”

“I am glad that you did,” Victor says and turns his head to the side, calling something in response before he brings his attention back to Yuuri and takes his hands, rising with him. Now that they stand again, Yuuri can feel how much tension is suddenly gone from his body.

“There are only a few things left to carry in, can you take care of that?” Victor asks.

“Of course,” Yuuri says with a small nod. “I’ll finish here.”

“Good,” Victor says and briefly glances at the curtain that currently hides their sleeping space. “And when I come back, I’ll make it up to you.”

The fire comes back to Yuuri’s body in an instant, even more so as Victor kisses him again, with the same tenderness as before but also with a passion and hunger that is more than just a promise of what they intend to do later. It ends far too soon, but it leaves Yuuri desperate for more.

Perhaps it is only an illusion, but Yuuri feels as if everyone is staring at them as they leave their tent together and their ways part. He can spot Mila in the distance, watching him curiously but also grinning at him in the way that is so very much like her. She knows, of course, or at least can put two and two together and come to a close-enough conclusion.

At least, Yuuri thinks as he goes to grab the remaining items for their home, she will not tease him about it.

He brings the last furs inside and puts them down on their bed, spreading them out in the way he thinks it is most perfect, making sure the softest ones lie right on top. Then, trying not to think too much about what will happen there tonight, he busies himself with making a fire in order to prepare a meal. There is a bag of fine, white rice that his mother has gifted him on their wedding day, and tonight seems the perfect occasion for it. He leaves it to cook in a pot and then goes on to prepare the fish and the vegetables, adding herbs and spices that he has brought with him from home, determined to prepare a feast for them. This is not only the first time he has time to cook like this, but also the first time they have their proper tent back, where they truly have privacy. Time for themselves. Time to make up for the nights they have wasted worrying about the wrong things.

While the fish and vegetables slowly roast over the fire in a pan, Yuuri continues with the next step that is making coffee. Victor has shown him how to do it, and so have many others over the weeks, but this is the first time he is making it without supervision. Grinding the beans is exhausting, but Yuuri works quickly, wants the beverage to be finished by the time Victor comes back. They even have some milk left as some small luxury addition.

Everything needs to be perfect tonight.

Yuuri is arranging their food on a large plate, just the way his mother does it, as Victor returns. He is slightly out of breath, as if he had been hurrying to get back, and there is anticipation clearly written all over his face, which is replaced by unabashed joy at Yuuri’s sight.

“What is all this?” He asks curiously and takes off his shoes before stepping onto the good carpet with bare feet and approaching the sitting area.

Yuuri places the plate between them and sits back. “I thought we could have something nice tonight.”

“Very nice indeed,” Victor says and leans over to kiss him the moment he has sat down. “What is that smell? Did you make coffee?”

Yuuri blushes and looks at the beautiful pot on the small table to his right. “For after the meal, I thought…”

“You spoil me so,” Victor says and kisses him again. “Truly, Yuuri, I do not deserve you.”

“I don’t even know if the coffee is good,” Yuuri warns him, but he is thrilled that Victor is happy about him making the effort.

“I’m sure it is perfect,” Victor assures him and then pulls him into his lap, just the way he has done at their wedding, and holds him close. “Perfect like you.” He kisses his temple tenderly, with no hidden intentions. Just because he wants to. “Thank you for preparing such a wonderful meal.”

“You have not even tried it yet,” Yuuri reminds him as he leans into his embrace, his heart overpouring with happiness already. As much as he can, he leans forward and pulls the plate towards them so that Victor can take some of the food. He waits patiently for his reaction and is not disappointed as Victor hums in delight. Then, he begins to feed Yuuri, who can barely stop laughing at the silliness of his husband and needs a moment to convince him that he is very much able to eat on his own.

“I have neglected you for far too long,” Victor claims. “That means, I must indulge you in every possible way.”

“You are silly.”

“You have only noticed that now?” Victor smiles and his eyes sparkle in delight, and Yuuri really cannot be annoyed about him when his husband is like this. When they are finally on the same page again, speaking to one another, and hearing one another. And so, they continue the meal in the same fashion, feeding each other until they are sated. Then, they move on to the coffee, but this time, it is Victor who takes care of everything. His clan has a certain way of serving coffee that Yuuri is sure he will never quite master. It includes opening the pot of coffee several times to let in air before pouring the beverage into the cups bit by bit, always swirling it a little in between. For how long one needs to do that, Yuuri does not know, but Victor has mastered it.

“This is more complicated than our tea ceremony,” Yuuri remarks as Victor finally hands him the cup.

“I’ve seen a woman in your village do it,” Victor says and lifts his own cup. “I agree.” He takes a sip, and so does Yuuri, on whose tongue the bitter, full taste of the coffee unfolds. One look at Victor tells him that he has prepared the coffee well, for Victor hums in delight and then smiles at Yuuri with unmistakeable pride. “As if you were born among us and with the taste of coffee on your lips.”

“Is it good?” Yuuri asks, and receives a kiss instead of a reply in words. Victor’s lips are gentle and warm, the bitter taste of coffee still on them.

“Very good,” Victor whispers, “it could only be better if drunken directly from your lips.”

He withdraws before Yuuri can drop dead right then and there out of embarrassment. Victor’s gaze is warm, and so full of patience and love as he puts his cup aside and places his hand on Yuuri’s thigh – entirely innocently, and only for reassurance.

“Thank you for all this,” he says, gesturing at the coffee and the almost empty plate before them. “What a wonderful gesture to end our… well… dispute is not what one could name it…”

“Perhaps it could be best called a misunderstanding,” Yuuri suggests and places his hand on top of Victor’s. “I… I cannot help but think that I must have made you feel so unloved.”

“No, Yuuri,” Victor says immediately and laces their fingers together. “I never felt unloved by you.”

“But… you must have thought that I deliberately rejected you.”

Victor is quiet for a moment and looks down at the carpet they are sitting on. “I felt rejected, at first. But then I thought: he surely has his reasons. After all, you still wanted to be around me, you talked to me, and you let me kiss you. You returned my affections.” He blushes, and a shade of pink that Yuuri has never seen on him before appears on his pale cheeks. “After you told me that there was no one else, I said to myself: That would be enough. Just to be the only one for him, no matter how. That would be enough.”

“Victor…” Yuuri whispers, not knowing what to say.

“Believe me, Yuuri,” Victor says a little firmer now and squeezes his hand. “Not once did I blame you for anything. And I certainly will not blame you now. I should not have expected that this marriage would work without the slightest explanations about our respective cultures and traditions. I will never be that stupid again.”

“You are not stupid,” Yuuri murmurs and moves closer to him, pressing their thighs together. “If anyone here is stupid, then it is me. I had… I had such horrible theories.”

“Theories?” Victor asks with a frown. “What theories?”

“You must promise not to laugh.”

“I promise.”

Yuuri swallows thickly, trying to find the right words to describe his utter stupidity. “I… I thought at first that perhaps, your people… your people only shared the bed once a month. When that didn’t happen, I thought that maybe, you didn’t want any children or didn’t like children. But then I saw that you were playing with the children, and Mila told me that you wanted some, and I remembered what you had said to me at our wedding. And from there, I just… had more and more theories, one of them… one of them being that you didn’t want me or that you already had children somewhere else.”

Victor blinks, and a strange, embarrassed expression appears on his face. He clears his throat and sits up a little straighter. “Well… regarding that last point of yours…”

Yuuri’s eyes widen in shock.

“Wait, wait!” Victor exclaims and takes both of his hands. “This is not what you think! All I want to say is that I was not exactly a saint before getting married. I had lovers every now and then. Not amongst my own people, of course, but in some towns or settlements that we passed. None of it ever meant something to me, it was just… distraction. It might well be that I fathered a child or two in recent years, but even if I did, I have no idea where. It’s…” He sighs. “None of this is a threat to you or our future children, Yuuri.”

Although Yuuri is still incredibly tense, a heavy weight has already fallen off his shoulders. For a single man like Victor that travelled a lot to have some romantic adventures here and there was not uncommon, and neither was having illegitimate children. No, those only ever became a problem to a mate if they were publicly acknowledged by their fathers.

“I’ve never seen a kid with my hair and my eyes,” Victor assures him, “and believe me, they would come through.”

“They would,” Yuuri agrees softly and takes a deep breath to calm himself fully. “So you see… I had lots of theories and each was worse than the one before.”

“I wish you would not have gone through this all alone,” Victor says and before Yuuri knows it, Victor has pulled him onto his lap and holds him lovingly. His thumb brushes along Yuuri’s jaw and comes down to his chin. “Let us never cause each other such pain ever again.”

“Never again,” Yuuri whispers and this time, it is him who leans in to steal a kiss, and his heart overflows with joy as Victor returns the kiss with equal desire and emotion.

This time, they do not break their kiss, and it develops into something that is more heated. Something that his hungry. Demanding. Asking for more.

“Yuuri,” Victor breathes against his lips, “may I take you to bed?”

“Yes,” Yuuri whispers and wraps his arms around Victor’s neck, just a second before Victor lifts him up and stands with him to carry him to their sleeping space.

They should have done this a long time ago, Yuuri thinks, but none of it matters now as Victor puts him down on their bed and joins him, capturing his lips in a heated yet tender kiss. “Oh my,” Yuuri sighs against Victor’s lips as he lies down on his back and pulls Victor with him. What awaits him now he has not dared to think, let alone dream of, for such a long time. Now that he has his husband back for good, reality feels almost surreal.

Victor seems to think so, too, for he pauses as he hovers over Yuuri, their faces only centimetres apart as he looks him in the eye. The corner of his mouth twitches, as if he were thinking of something that amuses him greatly, before he actually begins to chuckle.

“Victor?” Yuuri asks with a small frown, hoping very much that there isn’t something about his face that makes Victor laugh.

“Forgive me,” his husband says with a smile on his face. “I just had to think of something a priestess once told me.”

“Oh?” Yuuri has never spoken to a priestess, has never even seen one of these extraordinary women that are able to hear the will of the gods and the spirits – yes, who are even able to hear the whispers of their ancestors in the wind. It does not actually surprise him that Victor has been able to speak to one, as he is an important and well-known man, but the fact that Victor has been granted to receive a priestess’ wisdom sends shivers down his spine.

“Mhm,” Victor hums and settles at Yuuri’s side, their legs entangled still and his hand in Yuuri’s hair, unwilling to let go of him. They have not even taken off their clothes, yet it already feels far more intimate than anything that they have done so far. “I was seventeen years old, and I had just become a man. I knew that I would soon follow my father’s footsteps, become a warrior, and my greatest wish was to reunite the clans and bring an end to the constant bloodshed. I travelled day and night to meet this priestess, wanted her to ask the spirits and my ancestors for their blessing and their strength. How ambitious I was.” He sighs and traces Yuuri’s hairline tenderly. “But when I finally met the priestess and stepped into her tent, she fixated me with her gaze and told me to remain where I was. She stood from the fire and approached me, circling me like a lioness circles her prey. Never before had I felt so… so examined. And then she spoke to me and said: _Your victories will mean nothing in the eyes of the one who will capture your spirit. You will be his victory instead_.”

Yuuri frowns, but says nothing as he watches Victor’s face carefully and sees all the small changes – the haziness in his eyes as he relives the memory in his mind, the gentle frown on his forehead as long forgotten emotions return. He can only imagine what that moment must have been like for Victor all those years ago. What he must have felt. Many people have been unsettled by the things told to them by priestesses, whose words are often hard to understand.

“I realised very fundamental truths that day,” Victor says quietly and gently caresses Yuuri’s cheek. “It confirmed what I had already felt before. That I could never find true happiness in the arms of a woman. That my mate had to be of my own kind. That I could find joy with women, but that my spirit would never feel drawn to a woman’s. I also knew that I could not marry someone for political reasons. And I knew from the priestess’ words that my victories would come. But once I had achieved them, I fell into great despair. I felt lost and…” He pauses and averts his gaze, as if not daring to look Yuuri in the eye when speaking about it. “For a long time, I began to wonder if the priestess had been mistaken. Everyone I met only ever saw my title, my victories. Sons and daughters were offered to me, and Yuuri, it appalled me so. And then, when I had given up all hope, you were _there_.”

Yuuri shivers at the sound of Victor’s voice that has suddenly become so fragile and tender, in it the exhaustion and longing of a spirit that has been wandering on its own for far too long. Finally, Victor looks at him again, and he takes his hand and brings it to his lips. “And you did not care for me nor my title nor my achievements. None of it mattered to you. You kept your head high and stood by your accomplishments with pride, only for yourself and not to impress me. You challenged my spirit and forced it into submission with only one glance. You conquered me, Yuuri, and made me your prize.”

Yuuri is stunned into silence at Victor’s words, who speaks them with such passion that he cannot doubt that Victor means them just like that. To think that something so forceful could have come from him and captured Victor’s spirit – it is almost laughable, were it not for the bond between Victor’s heart and his own, pulling strongly in this very moment. It is his spirit speaking to Victor’s, and Victor’s spirit responding joyously. He knows it, and he does not dare to believe it.

But he must, and so he dares, and he leans up to meet Victor’s lips.

“You are not my prize,” Yuuri whispers, “you are only my love.”

Victor blushes, and the sweetest shade of pink adorns his pale cheeks. “More I do not want to be to you,” he says quietly and closes his eyes as he lets their foreheads touch. “Only your love.”

It is the first time they have said it so openly, with such peace in their hearts, and not in a moment of distress – when love is only the expression of the joy that their spirits feel, now that they have found each other.

And then, Victor’s lips find Yuuri’s again, and they continue what they have begun moments ago. It is a slow and sensual dance as they remove each other’s clothes, never parting from the other for too long, chasing the other one’s lips with passion and the kind of hunger that is driven by their spirits. Yuuri gasps as he feels Victor’s bare skin against his own, feels the heat of his breath as they kiss and touch each other with the desire they have not given in to for far too long. Yuuri might perhaps not know what he is doing, but he cannot help himself. He knows that if he were to follow the advice he has been given, he should let Victor do all the work. That he should let Victor guide him, that he should best lie on his back and only receive. But he cannot help himself, for he longs to touch Victor just the way Victor touches him. And so, he kisses Victor’s neck, sucks marks into his skin, and earns deep moans of pleasure in return that shake him to the core. To think that it is him who causes Victor to forget everything else and give in to the lust that their spirits pour into their bodies. He is eager, so very eager that he does not even put Yuuri down on his back, but pulls him onto his lap and pleasures him there, his fingers alone driving Yuuri to the brink of insanity. He has barely regained his senses as they kiss again, hungry and insatiable, and outside, the Rains begin with a thunderstorm.

“What do you need, Yuuri?” Victor breathes against his lips, already thrusting up against Yuuri who still sits on his lap, legs spread and hooked around his waist.

“You,” Yuuri whispers and kisses him hard, “need you… please, Victor—ah!” He cries out as he can finally, finally sink down on Victor and take him in, and there is not a trace of the pain he has felt the first time. Perhaps it is this position that brings the chance, or the fact that the situation is an entirely different one than their wedding night. Like this, Yuuri cannot help but feel powerful and overpowered at once, for Victor holds him close, grips his hips tightly and will surely leave dark bruises there – bruises that Yuuri will carry with pride, proof of the passion that Victor feels for him.

“Take what you need, my love,” Victor whispers into his ear and thrusts up into him, causing Yuuri to moan so shamelessly that it should certainly be forbidden. Yuuri’s moans are like a song, his breath mingling with Victor’s as they chase the sweet pain that they have neglected for far too long out of all the wrong reasons. And Yuuri feels it, and knows that Victor feels it, too, as they move together to the music that their bodies and spirits create.

“Victor, I—” Yuuri gasps before he falls into bliss and forgets everything but Victor, Victor, always Victor.

Victor, who moans into his neck and holds him tight as he comes inside him. Victor, who wraps his arms around him as he falls back onto the furs with him and keeps him warm. Victor, who kisses him and breathes: “You have conquered me at last, my Yuuri.”

The thunderstorm continues outside as peace settles in their hearts and minds, and although they are exhausted, neither Victor nor Yuuri feel tempted to give in to the desire to sleep. Not after they have just found each other again, have brought their spirits together again. In Yuuri’s heart, at least, now resides a deep peace alongside the satisfaction that Victor has given him with his body, and that he will have again and again, as much as he needs it. He only has to ask.

Victor nuzzles his neck lovingly and kisses him there, the feeling alone sending a wonderful shiver down Yuuri’s spine. “The night before I asked for your hand, I allowed myself to imagine a moment like this,” he murmurs. “I cannot believe I get to have it now.”

Yuuri curls up at his side and buries his face in Victor’s chest. “I saw you that night,” he whispers, “when I could not sleep. You were dancing with your sword. I had never seen something so mesmerising.”

Victor wraps his arm around his middle to pull him even closer. “It is a form of prayer. I asked the gods for strength that night.”

Yuuri lifts his gaze, looking past Victor’s chin to meet his gaze. “What did you need strength for?”

“To ask for your hand, of course.”

“… _Oh_.”

Victor shifts to have Yuuri rest his head on a cushion right beneath his arm and pulls a fur over his naked body to keep him warm and comfortable. “I’m really not as brave as you think,” he tells him as he makes sure that Yuuri’s feet are covered. “Your mother was quite intimidating. She saw right through me.”

“She did,” Yuuri agrees softly and takes Victor’s hand, the very one he has treated. “You cut your palm for me.”

“My people believe that a man should shed some blood for his beloved,” Victor says with a chuckle. “I thought this might perhaps be the least dangerous way to prove my love.”

“Don’t ever do this again,” Yuuri mutters and presses a kiss to the very thin line that is the only reminder of the injury that used to be there. “Prove your love to me in other ways.”

Victor’s hand closes around Yuuri’s, and he kisses his knuckles. “Every day.”

*-*-*-*-*-*

The look that Mila gives Yuuri is of the most teasing kind the next time they leave their tent.

The rain has stopped for a while, just long enough for the nomads to take care of their horses and to get some fresh air.

Yuuri sees that Mila has been right, and that many, many couples seem to have used the intimacy of their tents well, for many of them look quite dishevelled and hardly wish to part from their husbands and wives, even for a little while. Yuuri cannot help but wonder if he looks the same to them – just as lovesick, just as happy.

Even if he does, he finds that he does not care. He does not want to hide his happiness. His joy. And neither does Victor, who kisses him deeply in front of everyone and whispers scandalous things into his ear before he walks away to sort a few things out. Yuuri’s cheeks are still fire red as he joins Mila by the shore of the lake, where she refills buckets and bottles and washes some clothes.

“You look well-rested,” she teases him as he sits down beside her on a small rock. “I’m surprised you can still sit. Is everything alright between you two?”

Yuuri nods and brushes his hair out of his face. It has become rather long, he notices, and he will have to ask Victor to cut it for him. “We… we spoke about a few things. We had some misunderstandings, that is all. It’s all good now. Very good.”

Mila regards him thoughtfully while she wrings out the shirt in her hands. “It would have surprised me if you had not been able to sort things out. As disgustingly in love as you two are.” She grins at him and Yuuri shifts awkwardly on the rock.

“Is it so obvious?” He asks her. “Not that I mind. It’s just—”

“Yuuri,” Mila sighs and gives him a long, good look. “You look at him with stars in your eyes, and he walks around telling everyone that wants or does not want to hear it that you are his _hokin-shi_. If that is not love, then I don’t know what is.”

Yuuri blushes a little. “Is it so strange that he tells everyone I’m his husband?”

Mila pauses, putting the wet shirt down. “Yuuri, that is not what _hokin-shi_ means.”

Yuuri stares at her.

“What?”

“You… you didn’t know?” Mila raises an eyebrow. “By the Heavens, do you two ever talk? Just talk? Or do you just f—”

“What does it mean?” Yuuri asks, now even more curious.

Mila sighs and sets the wet shirt aside, moving to sit down in a cross-legged seat on the grass. “It is hard to translate,” she says, “for it is not just… not just one word, you see. It is… it is the highest form of praise that the _hokin_ could possibly have for you. It means most respected. Most appreciated. Most honoured. Most admired. Most desired. Most cherished. Most beloved.”

Yuuri has never felt so embarrassed and so moved at the same time.

“And, of course, all the inexplicable emotions that stem from his spirit, drawn in by yours,” Mila concludes softly. “It is a title that is only ever bestowed upon the one that owns the hokin’s heart. Upon the one that has captured his spirit. Believe me, Yuuri. Victor’s love for you is as endless as the sky above us.”

Yuuri turns his head and searches for the head of silver hair that he would always and forever know amongst thousands. He finds it, not too far away, under the trees by the horses that graze peacefully with all the carefreeness in the world. Victor then turns around, as if he knew that he is being watched, and waves at Yuuri, his smile lighting up the greyness of the day.

“I suppose it is,” Yuuri says softly and waves back.

*-*-*-*-*-*

That night in their tent, Yuuri shares with Victor what he now knows.

“And what do you think of it?” Victor asks with a slight blush, watching his young mate carefully.

Yuuri kisses his lips. “You are impossible.”

*-*-*-*-*-*

As the rains end, they stay for another month.

It is the longest break the nomads have taken since the day Yuuri became one of them, and he enjoys this time immensely. Each day, Victor takes him out for rides through the area, taking him to the places of his childhood. There are the small villages surrounding the huge lake, with people that have Victor’s eyes and Victor’s hair and Victor’s nose, and Yuuri learns that this is the home of Victor’s mother. It is where Victor spent the first few years of his life – where he feels welcome, where people look beyond his titles and achievements. Victor introduces Yuuri to them, who is welcomed warmly by all of them, and especially praised by the elderly who are pleased to see Victor wed and in capable hands. Victor also takes him to his mother’s grave, which is a simple, flat stone in the midst of a field of flowers. There, Victor and Yuuri kneel together to pray, and as they rise again, there are no tears in Victor’s eyes.

“Now she may be at peace,” he tells Yuuri and kisses him, “knowing that I am no longer alone in this world.”

In his thoughts, Yuuri makes a promise to the mother-in-law he will only meet in the next life.

At night, they make love to each other in the sanctuary of their tent, shutting the world out entirely. When the nights are especially quiet, they lie together in silence and listen to each other’s heartbeats, listening to the songs of their joined spirits. Sometimes, they will whisper to one another, and sometimes, Victor will sing to him, and his voice will fight away the homesickness that Yuuri feels still every now and then.

But he has a second home now, with Victor, and this home has no definite place.

They leave the mountain lands and travel further east to sit out the winter there, where it is not as cold, but where it will snow nonetheless. For Yuuri, who has always loved the white beauty of winter, it is something he very much looks forward to – also because of the festivals that Victor has told him about. After winter, there will be spring, and with it will come more destinations, places, and people. All of this is now part of Yuuri’s life. A life that has been so much different just one year ago, that has changed so much that it sometimes feels hard to believe that all of this is real.

But none of it is a dream.

Yuuri is reminded of reality each time Victor kisses him, out in the open and for everyone to see. They sit together on Victor’s horse as they ride through the snowy lands, above them the clear sky and the warming sun. Victor is awfully affectionate with him that day, kissing him tenderly on his neck and cheek whenever he feels like it.

“Yuuri, my love,” he whispers and wraps an arm around Yuuri’s middle, placing his hand on his belly. “I believe you are having my child.”

Yuuri shivers and places his hand on top of Victor’s, turning his head just enough to kiss him in return. “I know.”

*-*-*-*-*-*

The day Mari sees the nomads on the horizon, she is helping her father.

She stands on the ladder that has been mended at least a thousand times, fixing the roof of the tent that belongs to the young couple that has joined their settlement not long ago. Their baby boy is crying far too dramatically for Mari’s taste. Really, it has been just a bit of rain that came through the roof and landed right on the baby’s face. Nothing to be so dramatic about.

“Will it take long?” The young father asks from below, and Mari rolls her eyes.

“Not too long,” her father assures him and Mari is glad she does not have to be the one to answer. She bites her lower lip and continues with her work, focused on the task at hand as she notices something in the corner of her eye.

“Nomads!” She exclaims and almost falls from the ladder in her excitement.

At first, they cannot see who they are, for they are far away. But then, they come closer and closer. And indeed, once you know their horses, you would recognise them anywhere. Horses, tall and strong, made to survive the harshest conditions, slowly approaching their settlement from the correct side of the river.

Many stories and legends surround these nomads of which every man, woman, and child knows. They have all heard the tales of their victories, of their achievements and their blessings. Knowing all these things, one would indeed recognise them anywhere.

Especially _him_.

The _hokin_ sits on his stallion as tall and proud as ever, the aura of authority surrounding him. With him is his mate, not riding on his own but with the _hokin_ , framed and kept safe and warm by his arms. And in a sling around his chest, sleeps a new life, with hair as dark as the night and eyes as blue as the azure sea.

Mari laughs and she grips the ladder tight with one hand as she raises the other and waves.

“Yuuri!”


	3. Bonus

The day his son was born, Victor had been sure he could not possibly be any prouder.

And oh, he had almost burst out of the sheer pride he had felt. Pride, admiration, and adoration – all of it had come together the day Yuuri had gone into labour. His love had fought like a lioness, had held onto Victor as he brought their son into the world. Never before had Victor witnessed such a miracle, such a divine moment that no human being seemed to be worthy of. He had been so afraid, so terrified, even more so when Yuuri had cried in pain but had never given up, had never stopped fighting, until their child was born.

The moment their son had begun to cry for the first time, Victor had burst into tears, and his heart had overflown with love and pride.

Their son is beautiful, yes, the most beautiful child Victor has ever seen, and he is absolutely perfect. His hair is of the same colour as Yuuri’s, as dark as the night and incredibly soft. His eyes are of an azure colour, just like Victor’s. His nose is just like Yuuri’s, and so are his little ears that Victor finds absolutely adorable, just like his tiny fingers and toes. Yes, from his head down to his little feet, their son is absolutely flawless.

As flawless as Yuuri, who has given him the greatest gift of all.

He thinks so each time he sees Yuuri nurse him, whenever he sees Yuuri hold their son and sing lullabies to him. Victor has known that Yuuri would be the perfect mother the moment he has first laid eyes on him, but now that he actually sees it, his heart aches with love for his mate. To think that Yuuri has gone through all of this just for him, just for their son – it fills Victor with a sense of respect and admiration unknown to him before.

Yuuri has told him that there is no need to repay anything.

Still, Victor knows that without Yuuri, he would be nothing. He would not be the man he is today. He would not know love that is as unconditional as theirs, and he would find himself alone in the world.

Without his Yuuri, his heart would turn to ice.

But right now, as the priestess holds their son in her arms and gives him the blessing of the gods and the spirits, Victor knows that everything is just as it should be, and that he could not be any prouder than he is now. Yuuri sits in bed, resting still from giving birth a few days ago, and watches as the priestess sings a prayer that is as old as time to their son. Yuuri’s eyes shine as the priestess holds their little pride and joy, who is entirely unhappy about being away from his mother and cries in the heartbreaking way that is so very unique to newborns. Victor knows that Yuuri wants nothing more than to get out of bed and soothe his little one, but that he also must not interfere with the ceremony that is meant to guarantee their son a long and happy life. And so, Victor squeezes Yuuri’s hand as they watch the priestess perform her ritual. The woman holds the little boy in her arms and sings to him, the sound of her voice just as bright as the baby’s cries.

“I bless you to be named Taishi,” the priestess says softly and gently brushes his little forehead with the red dust that stains her fingertips. “May you live long and under the protection of your ancestors. May you honour your mother and father and may you bring them pride and joy. May your happiness be everlasting and blessed by the spirits.” She runs her finger down his nose and the little boy sneezes, just before he begins to cry even louder, entirely done with the situation, wanting nothing more to be back in his mother’s arms. And Yuuri is just as restless as him, shifting nervously by Victor’s side. His husband squeezes his hand in reassurance and then gets up as the priestess rises, reaching out to take his son from her.

“My son,” Victor whispers and kisses his forehead. “Taishi.”

The name has been Yuuri’s suggestion – a name of his people. It means ambition, and is therefore a name that speaks of big dreams. Big dreams that Victor has for his son, yes, for all of the children that he and Yuuri will have. But Taishi is their firstborn, and that alone makes him special.

“Victor?”

Yuuri’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and he turns around, finding his mate waiting with outstretched hands. Immediately, Victor returns to the bed and places Taishi in Yuuri’s waiting arms. Only there, their little boy calms down, and Yuuri holds him close to his chest and kisses him again and again, whispering to him before he begins to hum a soothing lullaby.

Victor’s heart aches as he looks at them, looks at his mate and his son, and he knows the world is just as it should be.

Yuuri gently rocks Taishi in his arms until their little boy falls asleep again, as if nothing had ever upset him, and Victor cannot help but marvel at the tenderness.

The priestess joins them by the bed, sitting down beside Victor and reaching out to touch Yuuri’s belly. It is still soft from giving birth, and will remain so for a little longer – Yuuri has been worried about that, but Victor has assured him that such things do not matter to him. Now, the priestess has his hand on him, listens to the spirits that reside in him.

“Your next child will be a girl,” she tells him, and Yuuri’s eyes widen. “And the one after that, too. Your fourth, then, shall be another son. All of them will be strong. All of them will bring you great honours.”

Yuuri looks up at Victor, who beams at him and leans down to kiss him on the lips, not caring about the priestess being with them. “Do you hear our blessings, my Yuuri?”

Yuuri blushes as his husband pulls away again and looks at the priestess, who regards them both warmly.

“There is love between you,” she says, “and your spirits breathe and sing in unison. There are no more blessings that I could give you.”

Yuuri bows his head. “Thank you,” he whispers and looks down at their son again, admires how perfect he is, and knows that she is right.

Their blessing is right there in his arms, and they could not ask for more.

They do not speak for a long time after the priestess has left them, undoubtedly to bless more babies that have been born recently. But their own is the only one that matters to them in this moment. For Taishi is the best of both of them, a result of their love, a part of their shared spirits. In him comes together what they feel for one another, and they see it whenever they look at him.

And that, Yuuri and Victor know, will always be enough.


End file.
